


Melava Somniar | A Time to Dream

by KeeperSpock



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bittersweet, Cullen has a crush, Dalish Elves, Dalish Issues, Elven Glory, Elven Wine, Elvhen Poetry, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fade Tongue, First Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Homesickness, Hurt/Comfort, Inquisitor & Dorian Pavus Friendship, Lack of Communication, Lavellan/Solas Angst (Dragon Age), M/M, Mage Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Romance, Slow Burn, Solavellan Hell, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Zombies, ancient things long forgotten, dorian is a bad influence, everyone is awkward
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:28:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 88,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22342594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeeperSpock/pseuds/KeeperSpock
Summary: The bards say that Andruil went mad from desire. A few moments after she met Ghilan'nain, the Elvhen goddess laid divinity down at the mortal huntress' feet. It is also said of Asha'bellanar, the woman of many years, that she was so enraged when her lover was slaughtered that she brought down an entire kingdom with a single wave of her hand.  I understand that the history behind these legends is more complicated, but the stories resonate with me. Perhaps now more than ever.What songs will be written about my life?---In the moments leading up to reuniting with her former lover, Ellana "Nym" Lavellan reflects on their past.Update: This is now an illustrated journey
Relationships: Blackwall/Josephine Montilyet, Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Lavellan & Solas, Mage Inquisitor/Solas
Comments: 135
Kudos: 125





	1. Preface: Ellana "Nym" Lavellan (Figure)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan Tarot Card Based on John William Waterhouse's Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May (1908)


	2. The Apostate Mage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nym and Solas do not get off to a great start

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: 5/27/20 I'm going to be adding illustrations to this fic, you can find them in the chapters with (Figure) noted in the title. 
> 
> Update: 5/6/20 Hi new (and perhaps revisiting) readers. I'm doing my best to add content a few times a week in the quarantine. Expect a lot of side quests and trips. I didn't intend for this fic to get so long, but right now it is my COVID-19 project. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading my fanfic! I've been working on this over the last month and wasn't quite sure what it would end up taking shape as. Right now, I'm slowly working my way through the story. I like to think of my fanfic as "canon-flexible," so I'm borrowing, but also re-shaping parts of the narrative. I am trying to keep true to Bioware's Solas as much as possible.

**CHAPTER I**

I walk uneasily through the field of frozen Qunari warriors.

When we arrived at the Winter Palace earlier, I thought the only complicating matter at hand was the future of the Inquisition. I had not suspected that I would spend most of the Exalted Council fighting our way through long-forgotten Elvhen ruins linked together by an intricate web of Eluvians. Nor did I, in the wildest parts of my imagination, think that such ancient things would go hand-in-hand with a Qunari plot to invade the Southern Kingdoms.

Still, despite my apprehension in the face of this violent landscape, I hope that at the end of the path, I will find my former lover.

I pause to look at one of the stone Qunari soldiers, a javelin raised over his head, his petrified face forever frozen in a ferocious growl. Could Solas be the one responsible for such a thing? The Qunari had implied as such, but I still find it hard to believe. I spent years fighting beside him. He is a formidable mage, but even the most potent spells I knew in his arsenal were parlor tricks in comparison to one that transfigured flesh into stone.

As much as I, Ellana "Nym" Lavellan, Herald of the Inquisition, did not want to admit it, I have longed for this moment for two years. His departure took me by surprise, as did the Inquisition's inability to find him. For the first few months, I had been hopeful he would return with some sort of reasonable explanation. However, as time went on, I became more confident we would never see each other again.

I can't help, however, to think over his last words to me. "No matter what happens, I want you to know what we had was real."

_Was it?_

\---

When I first met Solas, I thought I'd found an ally. We were both elves living unexpectedly in Haven. I thought this would unite us.

I was wrong.

The first time I brought up Elvhen culture to Solas, it did not take long for him to demonstrate that he held the Dalish in contempt. When I bid him to teach clans any of the knowledge he had acquired in his adventures in the Fade, he scoffed at me. 'Would your clan listen to what I had learned in my studies? In my travels? Or would they mock the flat-ear and his stories, and go back to their ruins?"

I shook my head and walked away. Despite all I know now, I am still proud of my heritage and make no pretense of hiding it. At that moment, even if I disagreed with Solas' grim assessment, I knew his opinion was final. It wasn't my job to change it. Why try?

\---

I sympathized with Solas' perspective. Many of the Dalish tribes are obstinate about keeping up the way. I did not grow up in such a clan. Our Keeper, called Tor of the Dunes, urged us to seek out innovation. Unlike many fellow tribes, we didn't hermetically seal ourselves off from outside influences. Among our many friends, we counted human farmers, dwarven rogues, and even a growing number of city elves. Some of whom joined us over the years. It wasn't that we weren't protective of Dalish traditions, but we also didn't shy away from adopting technology and equipment when it benefitted our survival. Several members of Clan Lavellan, including myself, even took to wearing shoes in the winter months to protect against frostbite.

\---

As I grew in my role as Tor's first, we'd liaison with another clan, and I became more aware of the strangeness of Clan Lavellan's habits. In one such instance, shortly before I left to spy on the Conclave, a clan we encountered had abruptly left our warm fires in the middle of the night after noticing a small human child. A few months prior, we had found the girl, named Adah starving and wandering around in the wilderness. Although a few among the tribe had grumbled at Tor's allowance for Adah to travel with us, he stopped the complaints quickly. "How could any of you continue to follow me knowing I had abandoned a helpless child, human or otherwise, in such need?" He had asked us at the evening gathering.

The other clan did not share his generous philosophy. Their Keeper, a sour woman, dramatically gasped when she saw Adah sitting with the small children. Mid-bite, she had thrown her bowl of soup down in disgust. Before we knew what was happening, the Keeper stormed over and pinched Adah's ears between her fingers tightly. When her suspicions were confirmed, she had thrown her hands up and yelled out in a shrill voice: "By the Dread Wolf! How can you corrupt your people in such a way?"

Tor had tried to reason with her, explaining Clan Lavellan's collective decision to offer the child refuge. The other Keeper, however, spat in his face and muttered a vulgar Dalish hex before running off into the dark woods with her equally outraged entourage.

"You forgot to conjugate your verbs!" Tor called out to her mockingly, after which he walked over to a distressed Adah, taking her into his arms, rocking her until she calmed down. He spent the next few hours, as was his practice with the fussy younglings, telling her old folk tales, using different voices for each new character, until she nodded off to sleep.

Instances like this made me proud to be part of Clan Lavellan. I was fortunate, in my opinion, to learn from a man like Tor how to lead. As his chosen apprentice, I worked diligently to learn enough to each over the clan with the same tenderness.

"Nym," he'd instructed me later one evening, "the history we honor and protect is a thousand of years lost. How long will we grieve? How long will we hold onto things we don't fully understand? Keep to the way, yes, but also acknowledge that the world has changed, and we must change with it."

Although I found his words wise, it took me several years to fully appreciate their first meeting. As the clan's First, Tor ensured I rigorously memorized stories and songs; that I could recognize the different tribes' names and traditions; and that I could identify the specifics of Dalish craftsmanship. Nevertheless, he also drilled into me the importance of looking beyond the rigorous definitions of the People.

"Don't underestimate the effectiveness of mixing the Dalish way with human potions, "he'd once instructed me while treating a hunter with a souring flesh wound, "Both have their strengths and weaknesses. It is up to you as the next Keeper to determine how to blend history with present opportunities."

The hunter he was treating made a full recovery, with only a shiny pink scar covering most of his right leg. If we had only relied on the Dalish traditions, he would have lost his life. Still, if we had not incorporated a few traditional methods to clean the wound or manage his pain with local herbs, he'd likely have no leg.

\---

I found Tor's lessons valuable in my early days navigating Haven's politics. The camp was full of dysfunction and lacked a central message. My new companions, like Cassandra and Vivienne, wanted to hold onto the past and restore order where there was none. Others, like Solas, wanted to deny its power entirely. Some, like Varric, only cared to wind stories together. In his mind, as long as we all survived, he could change the ending. How was I to find my place in all of this befuddlement?

Ignorance followed me everywhere. To many, I was uneducated, beastly, violent, and unworldly. My freshly earned _vallaslin,_ in honor of the Elvhen goddess Sylaise, marked me as other. A story about the ancient Elvhen would have alleviated the pain for just a few moments. Solas seemed to regard ambiguity of all sorts as a virtue but did not attribute any nuance to my identity. I was Dalish, and that was it. My new title, the "Herald of Andraste," did not help his opinion of me either.

One afternoon he asked me, "What type of hero will you be?" I could only shrug, thinking that any answer was impossible considering that the Inquisition lacked agreement in its mission. I was simply there to seal the rifts, not because I thought it some sort of grand cosmic joke but a coincidence that I couldn't remember.

Still, I needed Solas' help. He knew about the Fade. Until I could carve out a secure place at Haven, I decided the best course of action was simply to give him space. I kept our conversations on the present; there was too much at stake to risk alienating him further.

I was surprised at how easy this was. Not only were we mages, but apostates. "Hedge-mages," Vivienne called us when she thought we weren't listening. I enjoyed seeing how animated he would become talking about dreams and history. Sometimes my reward for stopping by would be learning a new healing spell--or the translation of an ancient text Solas had stashed away in his cabin. Slowly, the coldness he had initially greeted me with vanished. It was not replaced with warmth, but it was curious.

When I brought him ancient trinkets to decipher, he'd reward me with a wry smile. When I asked about his origins, he'd find ways to end the conversation as quickly as possible. The distance between us remained consistent.

That radically changed one night in the Hinterlands.


	3. Injury in the Hinterlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas helps Nym recover from an injury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else attempt this fade rift and immediately perish?

**CHAPTER II**

Solas and I, along with Varric and Cassandra, traveled to rescue Master Dennet, a horse-master of renown. On the edge of a riverbank, we came across a rift. Determined to seal it, all of us but Solas had rushed into the basin without evaluating the surroundings. It was the first time I heard the ear-splitting cry of a frost demon. Its jumps caught me off-guard. I was attempting to summon a blast of fire when it blasted a cold beam of mana directly into my chest. 

Standing on the top of a precarious rock formation, I stumbled off the tall ledge.

The world went black. 

A few hours later, my eyes fluttered open. I moaned, struggling to sit up. None of my limbs would cooperate as though I was underwater. As my vision cleared, I could see Solas sitting next to me, his hands gently gripping my two arms to push me downwards onto a woolen bedroll that scratched against my exposed skin. 

"What happened?" I gasped. 

"Your body is responding poorly after encountering a new type of chaotic magic," He replied. His brow furrowed with worry, which did not do much to console me. 

"The frost demon?" 

He nodded, pursing his lips. "You were hit by its blast. We retreated."

Deep rasping coughs took over my entire body. When I put my sleeve to my mouth to wipe away the phlegm, panic began to set in when I saw a dark smear of blood. I was too weak to protest when Solas started to clean my face with a soft cloth as though I were a child. 

"You have a strong fever," he said quietly. "The frost demon's magic has damaged your lungs. Healing potions are only to stabilize your physical injuries."

"Where are the others? Are they safe?" I asked, changing the subject. I could live with my injuries. I would, however, be more concerned if the others were in a similar state to myself. 

Solas' mouth turned upwards to a half-smile. He seemed to respect my lack of self-preservation. "Varric and Cassandra went to fetch help. The next camp is not close. They should be back tomorrow afternoon. You were too unstable to ride any further."

He stood and opened the flaps of the tent, revealing an open field where grass moved in the wind like a thousand pieces of dark ribbon. It was night, and the only light besides the moon was a massive fire he had built. The air was crisp. I enjoyed it when it whipped over my face, briefly alleviating my throbbing headache. 

"They left me alone with you?" I asked, amused at the willful lack of decorum.

"Who else would heal you? Surely, not with the child of stone or the seeker in these circumstances."

 _A joke?_ It seemed so unlike the Solas I had come to know.

He continued, while absently wiping away at my face. "One would give you homemade rum and call it treatment, while the other might try to speed your body's healing simply by asking you persistently enough. So certain is Cassandra, after all, of her authority. Although, I suspect neither would help your current state."

I realized that he had never spoken so freely with me before. I wasn't sure what to make of it.

"Thank you," I said weakly, trying again to sit-up. I had never taken well to a sickbed, preferring instead to fill my waking hours with task-after-task. Back, Solas' hands guided me to lay down onto the bedroll with soft hushing sounds. 

"Nym," he admonished, "You need to rest." 

Instead of a witty response, a low moan escaped my lips. Bursts of pain washed over my body. I felt as though I was roasting over an open fire like a hunk of ram. I began to cough again. This time Solas was ready and he helped ease me forward to catch clots of blood into a pristine white cloth.

"Am I dying?" I choked out when the fit was over.

"No, _da'len,"_ he replied with a gentle voice. "Your body is rejecting the magic you absorbed in the demon's blast. Fade wounds have a greater toll than mere magical energy. Not to mention, it throws off the anchor. Perhaps you will remember that next time."

"I didn't know that would happen." I offered weakly.

I had never heard Solas speak any of the Elvhen language. It surprised me as it wasn't often that any other than the Dalish still used the ancient words. 

"I know," Solas responded with a wry smile. "That is why, as you will recall, I cautioned you all to address the whole situation before running into the fray of battle."

He was right. I looked away in shame.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen, Solas,That was foolish."

"Oh _da'len_ ," he sighed gently. "I shouldn't be so stern with you. I would have done the same thing at another point in my life." 

His hand touched my arm tenderly. The gesture was impulsive. When he looked down he seemed shocked to have let down a barrier.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, looking down at his hand on my arm guiltily. 

I put my hand on his. 

"We should be friends, _hahren_." I smiled broadly. "Even if I am only a Dalish elf, I expect our battles will be never-ending." 

"You were right to be angry at me for how I reacted when you asked me about the ancient elves of Arlathan. I didn't think much of the Dalish before meeting you. Perhaps I was wrong?"

I didn't have a chance to respond as another jolt of pain hit my body. I groaned again, unable to ignore the ache any longer. 

Solas began to shush me, placing both hands at my temples. A fresh wave of his mana surged through my body in tandem with the rhythm of my heartbeat. My heavy breathing began to slow, and I became groggy. Right before I hit the edge of sleep, he removed his hands.

"I've stopped the pain for now, but you must not fall asleep again. I suspect you hit your head." he warned, "and I _also_ know from firsthand experience you rarely cooperative with any healer's demands. I'm going to prepare a few potions which you _will_ drink. After that, we'll address the broken ribs and gashes."

I could only nod, fascinated by his teasing.

\---

I watched as Solas' began potion-making. Laugh lines showed at the edges of his blue-gray eyes. Illuminated by the fire, I could see the dusting of freckles from the sun. Even if he looked to be about two decades older than me, his muscular body would be the envy of any young man. That and every movement he made was elegant and graceful. He made even the most basic acts of potion-making--the crushing, the shaking, and the pouring--resemble a type of ancient dance.

_How had I never noticed how handsome Solas was?_

When Solas finished, he sat down next to me again, holding a golden bowl up to my lips. One of his hands came up underneath my head to support me. I could feel the steam wafting up. He gestured for me to drink, and despite the heat of the liquid as it washed down my throat, the pain in my body dissolved fully. The potion tasted familiar with hints of lavender and rosemary. 

"What is this?" I asked, feeling my body repair itself.

"An old Elvhen remedy against Fade injuries. You can address the physical wounds, but that will never heal the whole body. "

"Truly?" I asked, amazed.

" _Truly_ ," he repeated back, pouring another bowl full of liquid. "Now, drink another." 

When I had imbibed enough to his satisfaction, Solas packed up the bowls and herbs before turning to me, his expression hesitant. "We need to get you out of your armor and clothes before I treat your other wounds. Otherwise, I fear your wounds will become infected."

Looking down at myself for the first time, I realized that he was correct. I was filthy. My clothes were tattered and covered in blood and mud. In some areas, the fabric was barely holding together, revealing swaths of bruised skin covered in cuts. 

He shrugged before continuing, "I didn't think it right to cut them off while you slept."

He stood then, walking to a pack by the side of another sleeping roll spread out on the ground, taking from it two pieces of clothing. He placed them next to me, on a folded blanket. I was unsure what to do. I didn't need a mirror to tell me that I was bright red.

"I can do it myself," I offered shakily.

"I don't know if you can without help. We can try, but you are severely injured and barely moving." 

I could feel my blush deepen at the idea of being nude with an old elf under the moonlight air. 

"Here," he offered kindly sitting down next to me once more. "I know several healer's tricks. First, I'll help you with your armor. After that, we'll make a plan to address your tunic and breeches together." 

He worked quickly and efficiently as he calmly unbuckled the light leather armor, careful to slip it off of me in a way that would not aggravate my injuries. His touch was more analytical than anything, still, whenever his hand brushed my skin, my face continued to flush. Again, if he felt embarrassed, he didn't indicate as such, his face professional and expressionless as he slipped off my boots from my swollen and twisted ankles.

Before long, Solas had removed everything but my tunic and breeches. He stood over me, looking me up and down to evaluate the situation. He sat down again, taking out a knife.

"I'm going to cover you with a blanket, and we'll cut the tunic up through the center and tear it off. After that, we'll pull the leggings down. Do you think you can manage that?"

"Yes," I said weakly. 

He took one of the blankets, draping it over my body, but in such a way that it only covered the main parts of my torso. After that, he cut carefully up the top of my leggings and then through the center of my tunic. With fluid motions, he pulled the fabric off of me. He did not once make contact with my skin. 

"Ok, take everything off, and call me, then we'll get you dressed again." He said before walking out of the tent, turning pointedly to look at the fire. 

It took a few minutes, but at last, I managed to wiggle out of all my undergarments underneath the blanket. It was a struggle. Solas was right; I couldn't have undressed myself even if the pain had subsided. My limbs barely wanted to cooperate. 

" _Hahren,"_ I called out, testing this new familiarity between us. "I'm ready." 

"Ok," he said as he returned to kneel next to me. "I'm going to place the shirt over your head, and then guide the hose up to your knees. You'll have to do your best to manage the rest. Go as slowly as you have to."

He tugged the tunic over my head carefully, so all I'd have to do was guide my arms through the sleeves. After that, he slid the leggings up towards my hips. The entire time careful not to uncover me. Upon finishing, he stood up, walking towards the fire and looking away to give me privacy, which I appreciated. 

I struggled again for what seemed a long time to finish dressing—calling out to him when I finished.

When he returned, he had another tin of mixed liquid, along with several rolls of bandages. 

"I think we both can agree," he said dryly, "That you won't rush into a Fade rift again." 

I laughed despite the awkwardness. "No. I will not."

"Do you mind if I wash and bandage your other wounds?" He asked politely.

"Please," 

He sat down next to me, slowly rolling up my sleeves and legs to first clean and then apply ointment to each cut and bruise. Several were deep and smarted when he rubbed at my skin, each time I winced, he looked at me sympathetically. 

"You are an adept healer," I observed watching at how he evenly applied the urgent and then wrapped me in neat bandages. 

"One learns many things in the Fade, even if bodies aren't as shall we say concrete," he said in a detached voice, distracted by another deep gash on my ribs. His hands felt at the bones, pushing lightly. 

"Ow!" I exclaimed. 

"Broken ribs," he said smugly. I could feel mana surging through his fingers, lightly tracing the rib to knit the bone back together. 

After he finished, he sat down, looking at me contently. "I think we've treated most of your ailments, magical or otherwise. You'll still ache for a month or so, I fear. But you should be able to travel." 

"Thank you, Solas," I whispered groggily.

"Nym," Solas said lightly shaking me, "remember, you mustn't sleep this night." 

I huffed impatiently. 

"Here," Solas said abruptly, "Stay awake, and I will tell you stories of ancient Arlathan." 

For the next few hours, an enthusiastic Solas told me story-after-story. In the haziness of my exhaustion, I marveled at the number he knew. He adeptly switched between each of the legends with ease and imbued them with an energy that made them feel reanimated. Whenever I felt the tug of sleep pulling on me, he'd pause and encourage me to stay awake. Over time, I found that I leaned up next to him, one of his hands mindlessly stroking my hair as he kept me company through the night as if it is the most natural thing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +I wanted to give Solas and Nym a chance to develop a relationship outside of Haven, one that wasn't about her being Dalish or him as-well whatever he is--and thought that this exchanged would allow them both to overcome their differences without introducing romance from the get-go. 
> 
> +I also wanted to demonstrate that Solas respected the Inquisitor's bodily autonomy and didn't rush to undress her or do anything gross.I like to think that by treating Nym's injuries he has to begin to see her as an individual, not just as a vehicle for his machinations


	4. Blizzard in Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Playing as a Dalish elf, I think you become aware of how much your Inquisitor would have to overcome (not to mention the homesickness) to help seal the Breach, and lead the Inquisition. That culture shock would be rough--even if most of the other companions would be kind and supportive.

**CHAPTER III**

The first winter in Haven was bleak. For a full month, I barely saw the sun. The small cabin that the Inquisition had provided me for personal use was well-constructed, but as temperatures sank below freezing, the cold air pushed through the thatching and plaster walls. Late at night when the fire burned low, I would lay in bed wondering if it was worth leaving the warmth to restart the flame. 

At the time I was not yet essential to the Inquisition’s cause. 

Yes, I was regarded as the Herald of Andraste. 

And, yes, my companions followed me without protest. 

However, my leadership was not absolute and remained largely untested. 

Before I became the Inquisitor, and before we knew of “the Elder One,” I was free to meander about the town without attention. When I went to the evening meal in the Chantry, I would sit quietly among the rest of the townspeople. When I spent our restful days repairing equipment or practicing magic or swordplay, It wasn’t the subject of intense speculation. I blended in as much as a Dalish elf could among a mostly _shemlin_ town. 

I did not mind the anonymity as I was deep in grief. When I had awoken in the ashes of the Conclave, it was the end of my life as a Dalish elf. The anchor in my fist dragged me forward to the unknown, and it took me time to adjust to the understanding that I would never return to my clan. 

And yet, I did not quite fit into the new world I occupied on a full-time basis. Even with all the travel and excitement, I was lonely. And deep inside of myself--even if it was hard to admit--I knew that I would never go home again. Though I wanted to so badly. 

For several months messengers had parlayed my fate between the Inquisition and Clan Lavellan. Tor had written first when he found out I had survived, _“Come home Lethallan,”_ but after I responded to him (as Cassandra and Leliana urged) with a full account my new powers and occupation, his responses changed. _“Perhaps there is a new future before you even if it pains me to admit it. I have read the stars, my child, and you must stay on your current path. If we do not see each other again, please remember me and the love I have for you. That we all have for you.”_

Leliana delivered the letter at the morning advisor meeting. I opened it right away. It was hard to read those words, even harder to wait to return to my cabin and cry myself to sleep. None troubled me that evening, for even if the wax seal had been intact when the letter was put in my hand, I suspected that at least several council members knew its contents. 

It was difficult to find someone to talk to. My group of companions grew quickly. Varric the Dwarf would tease me, affectionately calling me kid and asking me to sit down next to him at the evening meal. The Iron Bull and his ragtag group of mercenaries would invite me to train and play games of strength (caber toss) and stamina (capture the flag). Josephine would wrap an arm around my waist and take me “for a turn” around the camp with her to whisper about this lord or that lady visiting Haven. 

We were all outsiders and this united us in friendship. And yet, I was not comfortable enough to be vulnerable with them about my feelings of isolation Certainly, I couldn’t tell them how frightened I was about the future. 

The anchor sputtered throughout the day, a faint light. I hadn’t mastered its whims yet. In my mind, it oscillated between a parasite and a weapon. Both overwhelmed me. Sometimes in the dark of my cabin, I’d wake to it glowing and wonder what the eventual consequences I’d face from its possession. I wasn’t the only one who was asking that question. 

On a late summer evening, at his insistence, Varric and I had gone to the town’s pub. He laughed as I tried human ale for the first time and spit it out. The bitter hoppy flavor disgusted me. It wasn’t long however until the dwarf was drunk--or at least pretending to be--to ask about the anchor. 

“Does it hurt,” he asked gesturing to my palm. 

“Sometimes,” I admitted. 

“What is it?” he asked again. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Shit,” he responded dryly. I could tell by the look on his face that he hid his fear. It was enough for Varric to weave fantastical stories, but another thing entirely for him to live them. 

Magic, especially of an undetermined nature, was alarming to him. Given his history with red lyrium he couldn’t help it. 

“My brother found unknown magic once, and it made him go crazy,” he muttered sadly into his beer stein. 

I put my un-enchanted hand on his shoulder, and said lightly, “As long as I lose my mind _after_ we seal the Breach!” 

The joke did not reassure him. He laughed then. It was an uncomfortable chuckle. In a flash he changed the subject and taught me lewd tavern songs for the rest of the evening, trying to cajole me into trying this and that food or liquid. All of which I refused. 

\---

Solas was the only one who wasn’t afraid of the anchor. I found it reassuring, Every few days I’d run-up to his cabin to say hello. 

“ _Da'len_ ,” he’d greet me with a wide smile. “What can I help you with?”

Often I had a question or two. Sometimes, I’d simply take a chair next to him outside overlooking the center of Haven and watch merchants and mercenaries come and go. He seemed to understand my unspoken sorrow, and let me sit untroubled while he read or sketched quietly. Other times he’d tell me stories about his time in the Fade, and the intricacies of magic. 

I had never thought much about the potential for my magic. Spells came easily to me, but the boundaries of what a Dalish Keeper might need from their magic was simple and straight-forward. Conversations with Solas began to unlock new applications in my mind. What was the most effective way, for example, to defeat a demon and seal a rift? How could I keep an armored knight from slashing me in two? I hadn’t met many other mages, except for Keepers like Tor, and this made even more curious to learn his perspective. 

“Why the Fade?” I asked him once, “Why do you love to walk in dreams?” 

He paused, his face drawn into deep concentration. “In dreams, I find new answers to my questions. Perhaps not the way one usually thinks of answers--as absolute and final--rather, there is an opening, quite like a flower blossoming or a tree dropping its leaves…”

"Must you always speak so mysteriously?” I interrupted impatiently. 

“I think the only way to truly understand the fade is by metaphor,” he continued in a calm voice, “Spirits and memories merge and reveal the essence of something one might begin to understand. Not quite a ghost, but a mirror. Not quite a mirror, but another world made up of overlapping moments and actualities.” 

“A sensation of what could be?” I offered to try to find his meaning. 

“Yes, overlapping with what was.” 

“I would like to walk in such a world,” I said in awe. 

“You surprise me,” he said. 

“Really?” I asked, “Is that such a rare thing to want?” 

“Yes,” he said. “Most are content with the status quo. Especially mages.” 

“That’s rather reductive,” I challenged, crossing my arms. 

“Perhaps when you are my age you might agree.”.

“Not all of us can be as wise as you _hahren,_ ” I said sarcastically. 

“Such cheek,” he laughed. “What is to be done with you?” 

I could only look away shyly. 

\---

When the blizzard hit Haven the entire town stopped. The snow and wind were violent. One could not walk out too far without the possibility of getting lost. The whole community gathered at the Chantry throughout the day to work. I spent most of the first three days of snowfall there quietly observing. Some women spent the time to make potions while others like Harritt sharpened weapons and oiled leather. Blackwall, our newest companion, carved small wooden figurines for the children. All in Haven seemed to enjoy the opportunity to let the world stop for a brief moment. 

I, however, was miserable and cold. The noise of Haven’s people--who I hadn’t quite accepted as my people--grew louder and louder. I began to drift farther and farther away from the center of the action--and closer and closer towards the edges. After the third day, when I heard Varric tell the same stories at least a dozen times, I slipped back to my cabin. 

Only, I was cold. 

Inside my cabin, I boiled water for tea. I did jumping jacks until I was too exhausted to move. I heated the coal bedpan and wrapped myself in blankets until I had crafted a makeshift cocoon. No matter what I did I felt frozen.

After a few hours alone, I was thinking of returning to the Chantry when I heard a rapping on the door. It was quiet at first, obscured by the wind outside, but then it grew louder. I walked slowly over. My walk hindered by several wool blankets I refused to take off. 

When I opened the door, I found myself face-to-face with Solas. He was wrapped in mismatched furs from head to toe, his bald head swathed in a woolen scarf that enclosed his lower face. I couldn’t resist looking down at his feet which were not bare for once and covered sensibly in boots. 

I gestured for him to come inside, hopping over to sit in one of the plush chairs next to the fire. He peeled off the scarves and furs, letting them fall into a disheveled heap on the floor. 

“I saw you slip out.” He said politely. “I didn’t mean to impose, but I wanted to bring you something.” 

He raised two large packages. They were wrapped in brown paper and tied together with a thin cheap rope. The kind that farmers might use to bundle kindling together with. 

“Oh,” I said, overwhelmed. I looked at them skeptically. I hated to be the center of attention and found it hard to accept gifts. Giving, for me has always been easy. Taking, however, was hard.

I wasn't sure what to do. A feeling Solas picked up on.

“I can leave,” he said in a tight voice. 

“No,” I stuttered. “I would enjoy the company-- _well_ , admittedly less company than was at the Chantry.” 

He handed me the first package. 

“Open it!” he urged gleefully. 

I began to tear at the paper. It fell apart easily in my hands. The rough texture of the twine gave way to soft fur--so soft and fine--that my hands almost felt slick when I rubbed them over the length of fabric. I quickly tore away the rest of the paper to reveal a Dalish made blanket. Solas looked at me eagerly as I unwound it. Strands of white hair were placed in an ornate ikat pattern that looked immaculate like marble. 

This was a treasure I couldn’t accept. 

I had only seen one of its kind before as the Dalish art form was hardly practiced given the labor required. Weavers collected discarded bits of fur strand-by-strand--fox fur, halla hair, tufts of bear underbelly--anything they could forage without causing harm to the animal. Each strand was then painstakingly woven into a tight-knit wafting with a single needle. A square foot can take years to make. Blankets like this were passed down and worked upon for generations. 

The one I held in my hand was large enough to fit around two or three people comfortably. It could have taken a whole lifetime or tribe to make. 

Before I knew it, I was handing the blanket back to Solas. 

“Please,” he said, pushing it back towards me. “You need something like this from home.” 

“Where did you get this?” I asked tearfully. 

“In Val Royeaux, last summer, when we went to address the Chantry.” 

“No Dalish would part with a blanket such as this!” I said heatedly. 

“No,” he said sadly. “No Dalish would. I found it in a small shop that sold what it called antiques and oddities. It was covering a rusted birdcage that held some malformed taxidermy. I couldn’t leave it there knowing what it was.” 

“What did you trade, the price--I cannot accept this--it is too much.” 

“Despite my insistence, the shopkeeper gave it to me for only a few pieces of silver. He had been thinking of throwing it out and seemed glad for there to be some amount of profit in it.” 

“If he had known what it was!” I was almost in tears. I rubbed my hands over the surface again thinking of hours of loving work it had taken to make something so beautiful. 

“I tried to tell him, really Nym. I did.” He sighed. “Take it for a time. If you feel strongly maybe you can find it a better home. For now let it comfort you.” 

I looked down at the weaving again, admiring the texture of the white strands melding together into a cohesive whole. Crafting such as this was considered a holy undertaking, as nothing was left to waste or killed in the process. 

“Besides,” he said again, “I spent days cleaning it of grime and soot.” 

“Oh, it’s _so_ beautiful now!” I exclaimed running my hand across the surface enjoying the warmth that seemed to be radiating outward. 

“And I enchanted it,” he said coyly. “To keep you warmer.”

I looked at him shyly uncertain what to say. 

“Here,” he said putting his arms out to take the blanket. “Go put the others away, and try this one. The magic will wear away with use but it should get you to the end of winter” 

I hopped over to my bed in the next room and threw the blankets on top. I looked down at my outfit. The cut was Dalish, but the fabric _shemlin_. The jacket was black velvet, two flaps wrapped around my waist, tying at the sides. The pants a soft suede, also black, lined with fleece. Both fit me well. Walking back to my sitting room, I felt glad to have chosen such flattering things to wear that day. _But why?_ I also asked myself, for surely what I wore did not matter to my guest. 

I found Solas sitting on the floor with the blanket in his arms. When I sat down across from him, he took it and wrapped me in its warmth. True to his word, the touch of fabric was heated and I felt like I was submerged in a hot bath. For the first time in weeks, I felt relief. 

“It appears as though you’ve never experienced true cold before,” Solas said.

I shook my head. “No, the territory my clan travels doesn’t hit such low temperatures. We migrate with the weather. I’ve seen snow but never like this.” 

“Well, this second gift will help you learn an easy lesson on how to stay warm.” He pushed a smaller rounder package into my hands. It was heavy and hard about the length of my elbow to the wrist. 

“This one,” he said with a wink, “is something to be shared.” 

I looked at him quizzically. Some part of me sensed a game, but I couldn’t articulate the rules. This generosity was not unlike Solas. I knew him to care deeply for others regardless of background. Wherever we traveled he always went out of his way to lend a hand or his healing skills. For although our friendship felt stronger, I would still find him on many occasions aloof and cryptic. What was the source of this fondness? 

“Nym,” he said as though reading my mind, ”Many are depending on you. If it takes a few things like this to cheer you up it is well worth it. The only thing that matters now is that we seal the Breach. You need to be at your best to do so.” 

_A lecture?_ That sounded more like Solas. 

“Now,” he sighed. “Please indulge me and open the second package.” 

I did what I was told and found a red glass bottle of Dalish floral wine, fermented from different petals and herbs. It was a green liquor hard to find anywhere outside of a camp or Alienage. 

I laughed for this was a particularly mediocre-looking brew. I could see a few bits of stems floating around through the glass. The finer the brew, the clearer the liquid. 

Solas stood up again directly in front of the fire, looking at me sideways. “Where are your glasses? Drinking this you’ll feel even warmer.” 

“Is that why Varric has been drunk the entire week?” I asked, pointing to a desk near the door that had some leftover goblets I stole from the kitchen for my tea. 

“Oh yes,” he said with a dramatic flair. “Didn’t you notice the rampant drinking was going on at the Chantry.” 

“No,” I said somberly. “I wasn’t really...watching for that. Although, I feel foolish now turning down so many glasses of ale. ” 

Solas laughed and promptly picked the goblets up and set them down beside me on the ground. Without asking he took the bottle from me. Then he removed a knife from his belt, and with some intense grumbling loosened the cork from the bottle, pouring a glass and handing it to me before helping himself. 

The taste was bitter, but it was home. Again, I had wondered, what had compelled him to be so kind to me?

“I overheard Leliana talking with Cassandra about the letter you received a few weeks ago,” he announced bluntly taking a sip of the liquid. 

"Yes, from my Keeper,” I said gruffly. 

“Both women are worried about you,” he said softly. “As are Varric and Iron Bull. They say you don’t eat enough and that you are often distracted.” 

I shrugged, trying to figure out a way to change the subject. 

“I am worried about you,” he said again, emphasizing each word carefully. 

I looked up at him again, finding his face soft and his eyes sympathetic. I felt a strange fluttering in my chest. Somehow, the constant ache of homesickness was lifting from my mind. 

"Thank you,” I said suddenly. “This, the blanket--the wine--I miss my clan and home.” 

“I know, _da'len, I_ know.” 

I had cried so much over the last few weeks that the tears didn’t come then. Even if my face was dry, my hands instinctively went to cover my eyes.

“It is hard to lose your home,” Solas said mournfully. “It is a pain that never goes away.” 

“No, I agreed, “My Keeper is right, however, what is important is that we seal the Breach. I have to make peace with my life now.” 

He nodded sadly. His mind seemed elsewhere, as though he was replaying his hurts internally. Where did he come from? I had often wondered. Whenever I came close to asking him, he withdrew from the conversation quickly.

I paused, voicing out loud my sadness, the one I had been holding back over the last month: “I know I am never going home again. I will never see my clan again, or Tor. I will never celebrate the new year with them. That future is lost for me now.” 

I held up my hand which hosted the anchor. I summoned its light carefully, wanting it to only shimmer rather than reach full strength.

“No,” he said staring at the anchor, “I suspect you will not go home again--and for that I am sorry.” 

“I never could have predicted such a thing to happen, surviving the Conclave, finding my body overtaken by unknown magic--and now--trying to figure out the right path forward. There is so much depending on me.” 

“Do you remember the Conclave?” Solas asked curiously taking another sip of wine. 

“No, sometimes I try to, but I can’t summon any memories except for darkness.” 

“Perhaps in time, they’ll come back to you.” 

“Yes,” I said absently, sipping on my glass.

The taste wasn’t as bad as I had expected. Still, it was acidic, the floral noes giving way to a pungent aftertaste. 

“This wine is terrible,” Solas admitted. 

“It is,” I agreed, taking another sip despite the grim assessment. 

“Why are we still drinking this?” He winched. 

“Desperation,” I joked as he laughed heartily. 

\---

We continued to drink in silence, watching the fire crackle. At some point, Solas had grabbed a blanket from my bed and spread it out on the ground. Occasionally, he would put another log in the fire. He found a book in time, plucking it up from the papers scattered on my desk and read it casually spread out like a wolf dozing in the sun. Again, I noticed how lean and muscular his body was. The fire illuminated his exceptional features. 

Eventually, he saw me watching him back out of the corner of his eye. His face flashed between several emotions quickly. His mouth twisted as though he had a sudden awareness of our differences and how complicated they were. In the end, however, he just looked sad. 

He shut the book quickly, looking at me directly in the eye. 

“I'm sorry, I just wanted to say," I said awkwardly, _What did I want to say? "_ I wanted to thank you for the blanket and the wine. It is the first time I've felt ok about being this far away from home." 

“That, I think, deserves a toast,” he said brightly. He poured me another glass of wine. I felt a small buzz as we clinked our drinks together.

I laughed, appreciating the opportunity to put the awkward moment behind us. I slammed my glass with his, and then chugged down the contents with an entire gulp. The taste was repulsive, but I could feel the alcohol radiating out from my belly to my limbs. I rubbed my hands through the soft strands of the Dalish blanket. Despite how awful I felt at the start of the day, the evening had brought some unexpected cheer in the form of Solas’ visit.

“We are almost to the end of winter and will be able to travel again soon,” Solas said carefully. “What will you have us do next?”

“The mages,” I said decisively. “We need to ally with the mages. I don’t say that because I am a mage, but because I feel like they have the greatest potential in helping us understand and seal the Breach. If it is magical in origin, then it makes sense to me that magic should be able to end it as well.” 

“That sounds like a wise plan. You must prepare yourself for what comes after. The Breach, whatever made it, must have a strong source. I believe it is ancient, something unseen for centuries. It will be even more work, I fear, to conquer.” 

“Even better to ally with the mages.” 

He nodded quietly, sipping his glass of emerald liquid. 

“And our companions,” he asked. “What do you think of them?”

I paused, thinking the question over. “On the whole, I like them. Even Vivienne and Sera.” 

He raised his eyebrow, skeptically, “Even Sera?” 

I nodded. “They all bring their experiences to the Inquisition. I might not agree with their views--especially Vivienne--, but I try to see how their ideas might add value or perspective I don’t otherwise have. Sera’s skepticism grounds me. Vivienne’s appreciation for the circle helps me empathize with the mages in their current state.” 

"Spoken like a true leader.”

I blushed at his admiration. “No--no--really. My Keeper Tor, he trained me well. He always listened to everyone in our clan, especially the most difficult members.” 

“Trained you?” He asked curiously.

“Yes, I was his First. I would eventually become the Keeper of Clan Lavellan.”

“I didn’t realize,” he said. “Although that makes sense given that you went to the Conclave.” 

“I wasn’t sent to attend the Conclave, exactly,” I admitted. “We were spying.” 

“Spying?” 

"Yes, Tor wanted to know what the outcome might be. My tribe, we wonder the Free Marshes and live in relative peace and prosperity compared to many other Dalish clans, but once the Templars and mages were at war, things became more dangerous. Everywhere we went, we found rogue factions. Some wanted to hurt us.” 

“You are brave. Especially to wander into such dangerous circumstances willingly.” 

“I did it for my clan,” I said passionately. “Surely, I don’t need to tell you how important it is to do something for others? Our survival might have depended on the outcome.” 

"Perhaps you have a new clan now,” he said. “Perhaps this group you find yourself in now is your clan.” 

“I never thought of it that way.” 

“No,” he said, “but I think you’ll find it to be true--especially when you lead them. What is it they call you, Herald of Andraste?” 

“There was no Andraste.” I said defensively, “Of that, I think we are both sure of.” 

“Even so, titles are powerful. Perhaps you should think of how to wear yours more strategically. If you put your mind to it, you could lead this group. They already listen to you, even more, impressive given that you are Dalish--a background that is viewed with suspicion by all you meet--yet you overcome their doubts because you are skilled at leading. You know how to make others feel welcome; you are compassionate, and you are strategic.” 

I looked at him strangely. Again, I sensed that under his admiration, some sort of game was at play. It didn’t seem as though he was flirting, even if I was inexperienced in this regard. Nor did it seem entirely sinister. 

_“Ma serrannas,_ Thank you,” I said politely.

“You must, _da'len,_ know your strengths, for you will need to rely on them in the months ahead.” 

I nodded again, mulling his words over. I was trying not to feel overwhelmed again. For at the time, leadership on such large of a scale was especially inconceivable to me. 

“I don’t mean to lecture you,” Solas said. “Forgive me. I know it’s trying to constantly be told what to do--which is why Cassandra will never lead the Inquisition.” 

I laughed, for I knew that the two of them had forged a very uneasy peace. Solas was the only one who openly disobeyed Cassandra’s demands. Even I would try to compromise. 

“The council is becoming stronger; we’ve been able to work together. I suspect that this harmony will help us accomplish what we need to. Although, sometimes, I still feel distant from some of the members, even if I know they think highly of me.” 

“Oh,” he said, turning his hand. He split the final dredges of the bottle between our two cups. I began to feel a little more than a buzz after the last glass and slowed to sip it, wanting to avoid a hangover the next day. Still, alcohol made me feel less inhibited. 

“The other day,” I said intensely, “I went to the practice ring to exercise and found Cullen there. I wanted to ask him more about the Templars, but whatever subject I brought up, he would only make eye contact with me erratically. I felt like I was bothering him.” 

Solas laughed heartily; he sounded as if he were growling.

“What!” I demanded angrily. “Is it because I’m Dalish?” 

“No,” Solas said though imparting some great secret, “No, _da'len_. It’s because your beauty makes him nervous. Give him time.” 

_Beauty?_ I didn’t find myself to be striking. A few weeks ago, I had looked in the mirror in Josephine’s bed-chamber. I had long white-blonde hair that I wound in elaborate braids pinned around my head so no enemy could grab them in a fight. My hazel eyes were slightly set too far apart, but were large and bright. My nose had been broken once in a row and had a large hook towards the bridge. I was tan and slight. I didn’t see how any beauty I might have would be threatening, indeed, to a human. 

Not to mention the _vallaslin._ I didn’t find the marks to mar my face like some Dalish did. No, I was proud of them. They wound around my entire face in intricate loops. I had enjoyed the ornate pattern, and appreciated them more given the pain it took to render them. Mine were a pale white, subtle, but omnipresent to any looking at me. How could a human find such a look appealing? 

“You don’t see your beauty?” he asked coyly. " You look like one of Arlathan. Certainly Cullen is not the only one to have noticed. ” 

I recalled several moments from my youth of awkward gaping by some of the young men. A few had tried to kiss me at the spring festival, but I found them all to be clumsy, and recoiled at their sloppy tongues and saliva. Among the townspeople of Haven, I interpreted some of the comments as a jest. When I went to the pub, for instance, a few rogue hunters tried to flirt with me. All I could do was stare blankly back at them, for even if I had been interested, I had no clue how to play that sort of game. 

“You think I’m beautiful?” I asked boldly. 

It was more of a statement than a question. 

Solas looked taken aback. I could sense his body tense. He seemed momentarily uncomfortable, as if he were a game animal caught in a trap. His blue eyes cooled. For a few seconds, the silence seemed to drag on. For once this evening, I felt that I had advanced in the match we were playing, his look confirming to me there was some sort of game going on. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “The wine and late hour went to my head. I didn’t mean to imply anything untoward. I think it is important for you to see yourself the way others see you. You _are_ beautiful. Only a fool could not see it." 

I stood, the Dalish blanket still wrapped around me. I let it fall off my shoulders.

"Good night, _hahren,"_ I said in a whisper. " _Ma serrannas_ for this evening. It was quite unexpected." 

He nodded dutifully before picking up his furs, putting them on one-by-one without a sound. He turned back one more time, and I could feel him studying my jawline intently. 

"It was nothing," he muttered. " _Dareth shiral_." Before I knew it, I watched him slowly walking through the snow, his body more and more obscured with each passing gust. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ Totally made up the Elvhen weaving technique. Lately, I've been asking myself what sort of crafts would immortal beings make? I like to think that some of the Dalish traditions would try and recreate (although unknowingly) these sorts of things. Basically, these sorts of blankets would take thousands of hours hooking each hair in place. 
> 
>   
> \+ I'm really interested in the power dynamics that exist between Solas and Lavellan's romance, and I think its a hard thing to write to evenly given the age difference, etc. I wanted to create a scene that acknowledges these factors but also has Lavellan pushing back at his dominance. 
> 
> \+ I tried to write dialogue that acknowledged that Solas was also kind of a complicated jerk, he's visiting Lavellan partially because he has a crush (though I iike to think at this point neither party will admit it) but also because he ultimately needs her to succeed so he can retrieve the foci. He knows the whole picture even if Lavellan doesn't.


	5. An Unfortunate Trek in the Fallow Mire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one has a good time in the Fallow Mire. No one. Its dreadful. Everyone says things they regret. No one finds resolution. Solas and Lavellan are awkward. Sera is awful. Cassandra is the only one with any sense. 
> 
> This chapter contains some gross descriptions of zombies and violence.

**Chapter IV**

The early years I spent in Haven was a blur. More and more, I led expeditions across all of Thedas. I like to think that I proved myself capable of leadership, not only because of the anchor, but also I was deeply invested in the Inquisition's cause. If I was to be known as the Herald of Andraste (a title I privately rejected), I was determined to earn the respect that came with that name through my merit. 

The fact that I was Dalish became less relevant to my daily life. At first, I was amazed that the Inquisition so readily accepted me. As time went on, I realized that it is an organization populated by misfits and refugees. The ongoing political crisis between the Templars and mages forced many to leave their homes. Some members were innocent bystanders to the conflict: farmers, shopkeepers, and trained craftsmen. Others, including both mages and Templars, had refused to take part in the violence and chaos. For them serving the Inquisition was a means to maintain their neutrality. 

In the spring, before we were to leave for Redcliffe, news reached us that a rogue group of Avaar warlords kidnapped a brigade of Inquisition soldiers and scouts. Leliana had delivered her report in the morning council's meeting in an uncharacteristically tense voice. The situation was dire. If we did not reach them soon, the Avvar threatened to kill each one-by-one and send us their flayed skin.

I did not hesitate to take charge of the rescue mission. By the early afternoon, I was riding East as quickly as possible. 

"It is a trap," Cullen warned before I left the meeting chamber. "The Avvar warlord wants to summon you. We can send another group, one that's used to that sort of terrain." 

"Nothing we can't handle, I said confidently, trying not to give too much attention to the way his face turn red as a beet whenever I spoke. "Besides, it will be good morale for the troops to hear that the Herald will personally see to their rescue." 

He sighed, turning to look over his maps and other figures. "You're right. Be prepared, though. It will not be a kind voyage." 

_Maker's Breath! (As the shemlen exclaim) Even now, years later, I wish I had listened to Cullen and sent another team._

\---

The Fallow Mire is perhaps the most desolate place I have ever been (and I have now traveled the worst parts of the Fade twice). The area is a system of interlinked bogs, each terrible, emitting smells that ranged from rotten cabbage to spoiled milk. The entire time we were there, it poured. The rain never once slowed to a drizzle. Our pace was painstakingly slow.

Given that some regions of the mud could suck a whole army under the surface in a matter of minutes, we had to poke any exposed land with sharpened walking sticks. We were without the ability to light a fire as any kindling we found merely smoldered. All we had to eat was dried jerky and fruit. 

Needless to say, before a single day passed, the entire group was miserable, ill-tempered, and vulgar. When we spoke to one another, which was rarely, it was as though we were gnashing teeth. Sleep was rare, as the constant rain made everything damp and moldy. _What had I been thinking of rushing off in such a hurry?_

Additionally, I had naively assembled the worst possible group to accompany me. I had initially thought to have Iron Bull and Varric as traveling companions. When I went to ask them, however, I discovered that both had left Haven for another mission. Unwilling to wait (and even more reluctant to ask Solas who was I thought unapproachable since that night in the cabin), I ended up bringing Sera, Cassandra, and Vivienne. The group dynamics were dreadful given Sera's need to continually chatter nonsense, Vivienne's need to demonstrate how beneath her she found her current circumstances, and Cassandra's overall lack of patience with either of them.

Policing Vivienne and Sera became a bonding point for Cassandra and I. As the two's open hostility towards one another escalated, Cassandra and I depended more and more on each other to survive in the swamp. 

On one especially pitiful day, we found ourselves strolling behind them. Vivienne and Sera started, yet again, screaming at one another. Vivienne had plugged her nose and seemed to be gesturing at Sera as though swatting a fly. Sera had taken the opportunity to reach into the wet ground and throw handfuls of dirt directly at Vivienne, a glob hitting her first in the chest, and then knocking her strange helmet off. 

"They are ridiculous," Cassandra murmured to me in a thick Nevarran accent. 

"They'll wake the dead again if we aren't careful." I lamented. 

Cassandra shook her head before walking aggressively forward, pulling Sera roughly away from Vivienne by the arm, careful not to step in any of the main passages of water. I grimly walked forward to calm Vivienne once again. In my head, I could already hear each sentence punctuated by condescending "really dear." 

  
\---

When we found the first set of abandoned cabins, we had wondered what had happened to their occupants. We had dutifully rummaged through the remaining contents, but no clues indicated where the townspeople had gone. 

"Who could have lived in a place like this?" Cassandra asked me quietly. 

It wasn't long until we had an answer. 

Even though I had heard stories about the dead's ability to rise, nothing could prepare me for the sight of a corpse grasping its way out of the muddy waters. Their slick hair clung to a putrid face. Half-of their molten colored flesh had fallen away, revealing parts of the jaw and blackened teeth. More and more rose. Some were bloated and infested with maggots as though they had decayed entirely underwater; others looked more like dried husks; their thin skin stretched over a visible skeleton. I found each one more terrifying than the last. 

As they gained momentum, I screamed and tried to gather up my mana. I stumbled, what spell could kill the dead? If I cast lighting, the whole area would electrocute us. Ice wasn't a permanent solution. _Fire,_ I thought desperately, _summon fire._ I slammed my staff on the ground again and again. The rain snuffed out the first few castings, but slowly each dead caught flame. Each admitted a blood-curdling cry so loud and piercing it forced me to my knees as I clutched at my head.

I could sense Vivienne's aura building nearby. She cast swirls of flame, more potent than I could manage, which incinerated the last few dead efficiently. Sera had cheered as she watched them fall to the ground writhing in pain. 

I fell to all four on the ground; the smells of decaying and burning flesh made me retch up any of the meager contents of my stomach. 

\---

I didn't want to admit how much the dead affected me. When I closed my eyes at night, I could replay every battle in chilling detail and recall every unnerving face. I'd wake with a cold jolt fearing that the dead broke into the camp. It was an irrational fear, but amid the bogs, it seemed plausible. Time and time again, I had to remind myself that unless we disturbed the water, we would be left alone.

According to Cassandra, with whom I shared a tent, I often thrashed wildly in my sleep as though pushing the corpses away, whimpering. There were a few nights where she'd woken me up.

"What did I say? I asked. 

"It was in Elvhen," she shrugged before turning away to fall asleep again, "I only know a few words." 

\---

I couldn't help myself from thinking that if Solas had been there with me, he would have been able to translate my dreams. What would it be like if he had come with us? 

My suffering in the Fallow Mire seemed to amplify this thought again and again. One night after a particularly gruesome day, I realized how much I had been thinking of Solas. Whenever I found a new glyph or puzzle, I wanted to decipher I thought of him. It wasn't only the magical bits I wanted to speak about with him. When Vivienne made a particularly snide remark to Sera, or in turn Sera rejected any magical seeming thing she encountered, it was him who I wanted to reflect on their strange behavior with.

I found my building feelings for him confusing. Ever since that night Solas had visited my cabin in the night of the blizzard he had become aloof towards me again. The ease that had grown between us had shifted. Before that evening, I felt open to him. Now, it felt foggy. Solas wasn't as unfriendly as he had been when we initially spoke about the Dalish. Still, when we met outside his cabin or at the evening meal, he would only stick to the topic at hand, deftly ending the conversation when it veered to anything nearly personal. 

I took his behavior as a signal to avoid him and stop bringing him on trips. Sometimes, however, at the evening meal--when I was sure he was distracted--I would admire his broad chest and handsome face from the corner of my eye. If the others noticed, they said nothing. My infatuation, I was convinced, had nothing to do with any sort of romantic inclination. Instead, he was my _hahren_ \--a person worthy of respect and acclaim. The fact that he was attractive was just a side-benefit. 

\---

It was Cassandra who first brought up that we should call for him when we found the ciphered glyphs. I quickly pushed away from the sensation of my fluttering heart. 

Vivienne seconded it when we picked up the apostate Widris' journal with notes on how to enter the Fade. "Oh dear, let's free the soldiers, and after that, you can stay and figure out what those bright little things are with that hedge mage. Goodness knows the rain won't ruin his look." 

"Do we need him, surely, Vivienne with your training at the Circle, you would be able to understand them?" I insisted. 

Vivienne had laughed in response. Deep, shrill laughs that echoed off the surrounding rocks. "I think this is way out of my area of expertise. The Circle mages simply do not explore the Fade this way. You need the elf apostate."

Cassandra nodded conclusively. "I propose that we send for Solas, and I will accompany Vivienne back to Haven. By the time we free the soldiers, they'll be here, and you can spend a few days figuring out what sort of magic is going on here. It could be useful to close the Breach, the subject of which Solas seems to be the Inquisition's only expert. Although Maker knows how he gained such specific knowledge." 

I had only nodded skeptically. If Vivienne wanted to head back to Haven, so be it. I was tired of her constant complaining anyway. Besides, pushing back at their request might make them ask more questions about my hesitations. 

And so it was decided. We dispatched an Inquisition scout o summon Solas. Cassandra and Vivienne would go back to Haven and accompany our troops home, while Solas and another would take their place. 

\---

Killing the Avvar warlord was more straightforward than we expected. Cassandra kept him occupied with her sword while Vivienne and I took turns freezing him. Sera would occasionally send an arrow whizzing past his ear, lazily aiming for his eye. Still, I found no glory in the battle watching as the warrior became more and more exhausted from my spells, freezing his body. It seemed a shame to defeat him. Only, we had no other choice. He would not relinquish the soldiers or surrender. When Cassandra had jammed her sword up to his throat, he collapsed a swift thud, not even issuing a cry to mark his passing. 

When we returned to camp, with all our rescued soldiers, we found Solas and Blackwall waiting there. Solas wore a wool cloak that repelled the water, his head covered in a turban-like cap. I tried not to look in his direction, and he did not initiate contact except for a week hello. Their arrival injected some joy in the camp, as did the bottles of whiskey Blackwall brought along for our rescued soldiers. 

In the morning, Vivienne and Cassandra took the road West while the remaining camp made the dreadful walk to each beacon. We ruthlessly snuffed out the demons, and Solas and I made rubbings of the glyphs. Already we could see the pattern emerge; the glyphs, when laid together, told a story. There was merit behind their mystery.

By chance, at the last beacon, we came across Widris' camp. Both Solas and I had tried to convince her to put her staff down. "You can serve with the Inquisition. We will protect you!" I had called out to her as she summoned demons to her side. Nothing we said compelled her to lay down arms, and we were forced to kill her in a magical deluge. When we had finished, nothing remained of her body except for a pile of ash. 

"What a waste," I said to Solas as we picked through her pack, trying to learn more about her experimental magic. "She seemed to have been a talented mage, to have made such things." 

Sera had run away back to the camp, as she has been so frightened by the magical stand-off. Blackwall had chased after her to make sure she would not be alone to face the restless dead. A potentially fatal task for even an archer as skilled as she. 

Solas and I were alone. He looked up at me carefully considering what I said while paging through the last notebook. "Yes, although I'm afraid that she misunderstood what she was brewing. This wasn't a potion that would open the Fade. It's poison. A powerful one. It would have killed her if given the time." 

"Did she imbibe it? Was that the source of what she thought was the Fade?" 

"Yes," he said sadly. "It is a shame Widris had to live out here like this. Her ideas were novel, who knows what she could have accomplished if she were free to pursue her passions with the proper support." 

"I'm glad Vivienne left. She would have been so smug about this poor woman's fate. I might have zapped her instead!" 

He chuckled at my brazenness despite the ghastly scene. "Come, we should leave here." 

We stood in silence for a few minutes over the damp ground where Widris' fell, our arms leaned against one another sorrowfully in the relentless rain. Once the final bit of ashes had blown away in the howling wind, we turned out of the inlet to walk away. 

\---

By late evening we reached the farthest camp, almost out of the Mire, but not quite. We found Sera and Blackwall were exchanging lewd stories and had somehow rigged up an oiled tarp over some wooden sticks that allowed a fire to burn. 

"How did you get a fire to light?" I marveled, 

Blackwall only shrugged. "If you spend some time fighting all over Thedas, you learn a trick or two. That and I made sure to bring some oil." 

I walked over to him gingerly and gave him a large and gave him a generous hug. He patted my back fondly as I fought back sobs. "There, there, all I did was bring along the right tools. We'll be out of here soon." 

Sera giggled. "Grey Wardens know more than mages. That's what." 

I was too ecstatic about the fire to care about Sera's remarks and held my hands up over the flame to warm them. Solas walked up next to me frowning. I only came up to his mid-chest. He was so tall for an elf. 

"You spent a month here, walking through this?" he asked in a dramatic whisper lifting his feet out of the mud. His toes were stained black. The pouring rain fell on them and cleaned them off in a few moments. 

"Yes," I said in an exhausted tone. "I don't think I've been dry for a month. At least I had the sense to wear shoes." I grinned and pointed down at my leather boots. They were ruined, but still, for the most part, kept my feet dry.

He laughed openly which I took as an invitation to continue my griping. "I never thought I'd be so excited to leave a place. All I want is a bath and something to eat other than dried jerky." 

Blackwall nodded gruffly. "It's only us four tonight, the rest of the troops already left and are north with the horses waiting. Solas and I will take turns keeping watch. You two are too tired, go to bed, we'll leave as soon as morning breaks and ride until we get to an inn." 

Sera stood up with a sudden and loud gasp. "I'm not sharing a tent with Nym!" she pronounced, turning to Solas and Blackwall. 

"Why can't you share a tent with me?" I asked rolling my eyes before yelling. "Please, help me understand-- just help me understand anything you might ever say!" 

Sera looked at me with wide-eyes. For the entire month, despite her persistent taunts, I had never once lost my temper. She turned her head as though not comprehending, before chirping, "Alright, there, hey! That screaming in your sleep in the funny tongue, it's freaky. How do I know you won't blast me to bits there?" 

I buried my head in my hands and squatted on the ground miserably. I was overtired and exhausted. Why would she _never_ cooperate? 

Solas hunched down near me, asking quietly, "What is this--? "

I shook my head vigorously. I was embarrassed about my outburst. More embarrassed to admit the source of my troubled sleep. 

"I'm sorry, Sera," I muttered. "I'm worn out, and I didn't mean to yell at you." 

Blackwall looked from each of us awkwardly. He might not have fully understood Sera's story, but he wanted to end the conflict, "Listen, I'll share with Sera for the night. Unless the two of you feel strongly." 

I looked at Solas. His face revealed no apparent emotions. I didn't want to protest and add any more weirdness to our current impasse. Mostly, I wasn't sure what conflict--if any--had happened between us in the blizzard. Half of me wanted to be alone with him; half of me didn't want to risk any more damage to our friendship. 

"That is fine with me," Solas said quietly, studying my face intently as though looking for distress, "Nym?"

"Sure, anything to get through this last night in this terrible place with some relative peace." I snapped.

Sera shrugged and jumped to sit nearer to the fire. Pleased with herself, she grabbed an almost empty bottle of whiskey and sipped and hummed to herself contently for the rest of the evening. 

\---

Solas had taken the first watch. Which meant I had been able to ready myself for bed, taking off my soiled and damp clothes, in privacy. When we had just been a camp of women, I had occasionally stood naked in the outside rain with a bar of lye soap, allowing all the dirt to melt away from me. I wish I had been able to this evening, instead I did the the best I could with my hair and a bowl of water and mostly-clean towel. 

Our tents had stayed mostly dry despite the pouring rain as the fibers had been crafted in such a way to repel moisture. It was still slightly damp. Each night, however, I looked forward to the feeling of laying in my woolen bed roll every evening despite the scratchy sensation on my skin. Galvanized by the fact that we'd be finally out of the Mire the next day, I tried to drift off to sleep quickly despite any mixed-feelings or apprehension I had of sharing a tent with Solas for the night. 

_He thinks you are beautiful._ I thought to myself, staring up at the tent's ceiling. _Did he mean anything by it?_ I went back and forth in my head for a while longer, drifting off to sleep before I could come to any conclusion. 

\--

It didn't feel like much time had passed before I found myself shaken awake by a concerned Solas. He was sitting over me, much like he had in the Hinterlands. "Nym," he breathed, "Please." 

I groggily sat-up, my hands grasping in front of me in the air. I looked down at myself, and I was wearing little more than a slip and some short woolen leggings. Before I could tug a blanket around myself, Solas had slipped a soft cotton blanket around my shoulders. 

"You were shouting at the dead," he whispered again, his voice soft as though aware of the others being close enough to hear "Cursing them. Sera was right to be concerned. You could have cast a spell in your sleep. Luckily, you didn't while Cassandra was here, otherwise she might have considered you possessed." 

I looked at him, fighting back the tears at the knowledge that the journey to the Mire had been even more tenuous than had I realized, "How could she have known, she doesn't speak Elvhen?" 

"No," he whispered, "but sometimes it is said that the elves can intuitively understand the cadence and the rhythm. That is neither here nor there, I think, at this moment. Da'len, what plagues you so?" 

I laid down and turned away from him churlishly. I couldn't bear to confess to fearing an irrational idea or the fantastical scenarios I had dreamed up in the anxious darkness of the long nights in the swamp. 

"Nym," he said quietly placing a hand on my shoulder. "It's sensible to fear dead such as those. You would be a fool not to have such a reaction." 

I turned back to look at him momentarily before turning my face again into my pillow. "I don't want to talk about it," I hissed in a muffled voice. The last month had eroded my ability to be cooperative. The fact that Solas was the one comforting me also made the situation worse. I didn't want him to see me in such a pitiful, waterlogged state. I could only lash out. 

Solas sighed impatiently. "Fine." He paused, issuing another exasperated sigh. "Be warned. I _will_ wake you if you have another nightmare. Which I expect will be many times in the next few hours until dawn since you are so intent on suffering." 

He stealthily stepped over me to his bedroll. He turned his body to face away from me. 

For a time, we lay there in silence. The light of the fire pushed through the tent's fabric, illuminating the slope of Solas' shoulder. He had tugged a heavy blanket right below his dimpled chin. 

I fought the impulse to walk over to him and apologize. _And do what?_ I asked myself. I was unskilled in romance, even if I could think of several scenarios of what Solas and I could do while sharing a bedroll--I had zero experience in such matters. Better to suffer than risk any more humiliation from rejection. Besides, there wasn't any possibility of anything like that between us. Our differences in age and temperaments made us ill-matched. One off-hand comment did not make a relationship. 

I fidgeted in my bed, dragging my foot from side-to-side restlessly. Over several minutes, I assumed different poses that might ease me to sleep. 

After turning about for what seemed like the millionth time I found myself face-to-face with Solas again. The fire illuminated his face softly in the darkness, and I could see his annoyance had melted away. His eyes were closed, but I didn't sense he was sleeping quite yet. Had he somehow moved closer to me? 

It wasn't that the tents we shared were huge, but they roomy enough that two people could sleep comfortably (even three really) and never touch. When I had fallen asleep in the tent a few hours ago, there was at least an arm's length between our two bedrolls. Now only a few inches were separating us, enough that if one weren't careful, they would roll right into the other body. 

_Was this what Solas was trying to do? It couldn't be._

I began to wriggle about again, the impulsive part of me wanted to "accidentally" roll in Solas' direction. The sensible part of me wanted to move away. I compromised between the two, laying on my back looking up at the tent once more, counting my breaths until I fell asleep. 

I woke again sometime before dawn, it was not yet morning, but close. The sound of the rain had seemed a little less violent. Or had it been because for the first time in days I had not dreamed of being pulled apart by the dead? I rarely remember my dreams, but the few fragments I could recall were pleasant: a meadow full of wildflowers whose scent I could almost smell. There was a shadow of a person who seemed familiar despite their distance, when I move to see who it was they pulled away farther. In my sleep I had almost forgotten that I was in the Fallow Mires.

I turned to fall asleep again, but felt my hands accidentally brush up against someone else's warm body.

 _Solas,_ I remembered jerking fully awake.

I quickly moved away from him, as though perhaps I could avoid waking him up too. 

Only I was too late. In my haste to put some distance between us, I had pushed against Solas' body rather forcefully. Before I could move away from him completely, in a daze, one of his hands had grasped at my escaping waist as though to pull me in closer. Slowly he opened one eye and then the other to see what had woken him up. When he saw me sheepishly looking back at him, he frowned. 

_"_ _Ir Abelas, hahren,"_ I muttered.

"Did you have another nightmare, da'len _?"_ he asked doubtfully. 

"No," I shook my head. "I didn't mean…" 

"Ah," he observed. He looked down at his hand that had taken hold of my waist. For a moment, it tightened as though filled with longing. His thumb pressed into the flesh underneath my shirt pleasantly. I could hear his breathing quicken. His glance at me made me feel for a moment that he might pull me in more closely.

And then he reluctantly pulled his hand away. 

I was surprised when he spoke in a gentle whisper: " _Melava sominar." [time to dream]_

Almost grudgingly, I straightened the blankets in my bedroll and lay on my side, looking away from him. My skin was covered in goosebumps, not from the cold, but because I felt Solas' eyes upon me tracing the curves of my neck and back. For a moment, I heard him rustling in his covers, as though he was fighting against the urge to reach out and touch me.

A few moments passed, and I could feel his face nudging closely to my ear. His nose was almost nuzzling against my throat. I thought he might kiss that soft part of myself, only he spoke in an almost inaudible whisper. " _Mah tel 'din ahn ma nuvena_. _Ra is i'tel hamin" ["That is a part of me you do not want, it is without rest"]._

Before I could respond, he moved his bedroll as far as possible away from me. Sighing, I tried not to dwell too long on his word. As though to demonstrate full compliance with his warning, I also pulled my bedroll even farther to the other side of the tent, rolled over to my side, and forced myself to sleep as quickly as possible. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ I used this great online translator for the elvhen in this chapter: https://lingojam.com/ElvenDAI
> 
> \+ I don't think Sera really is this terrible, rather, I think there is no way to play as Dalish elf and not have tension with her. I swear that they will get along in the later chapters! 
> 
> \+ Part of my intention with this chapter was to show that Lavellan is still not a fully formed leader. She's still uncertain--about her place in the Inquisition and certainly about Solas (who is trying to have as much self-control as possible). I like to think they were awkwardly flirting the entire time unwilling to admit their feelings for each other. 
> 
> +Dorian finally appears next chapter. Finally, I promise.


	6. In Hushed Whispers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian makes an appearance finally! I think that he and my Inquisitor would be fast friends and almost immediately inseparable.  
> My Inquisitor is a little by the book in this fanfic (at first) she needs a bad influence.

**CHAPTER V**

Dorian Pavus likes to joke that I'm the nicest girl he ever picked up in a Chantry. The truth is, I'm the only girl he's picked up in a Chantry. 

"Watch yourself, the pretty ones are always the worst," Iron Bull had warned me during our introduction. 

He was right to be concerned. 

Dorian is a troublemaker

\---

In late Spring, we journeyed to Redcliffe to ally with the mages and found ourselves, once again, in a mess. When we met the leader of the rebel mages Fiona in the inn, she claimed that she had not been to Val Royeaux to meet with us and that she had pledged the service of the mages to the Tevinter Imperium. "I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you." She sadly muttered when I asked for her to help the Inquisition. "Then who does!" I demanded. 

"I do," a man sitting at the table said unexpectedly. He was gray and haggard, wearing the costume of a Tevinter magister. 

"And you are?" I asked imperiously. 

"Gereon Alexius, a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Herald of Andraste. The Southern mages are under my command. And you are the survivor that walked through the Fade?" 

I scoffed, unamused at the magister's posturing. 

"What has happened here? Where is the Arl of Redcliffe?" Cassandra asked from the sidelines. 

"The Arl of Redcliffe, along with his nephew the King, have offered the castle and town as a refuge for the freed mages," Alexius answered in a curt voice, 

"You will release the mages to the Inquisition," I snapped.

"Oh?" Alexius sighed coyly, "Will I? For what purpose? What will you do after you seal the Breach? Take over all of Thedas? No, I think..." 

Whatever Alexius thought, however, was interrupted by a loud crash. He turned attentively to a young man at his side who had fallen to the ground, shaking uncontrollably. 

"Felix!" he cried, falling to the ground next to the young man cradling his head tenderly in his hands. His face soured when he looked up at me, "This conversation isn't over." 

Before I could respond, Alexius picked his son from the ground, his arms locked tightly around him, leading him off to Redcliffe castle. 

\---

If our first encounter with Alexius was strange, our meeting with Dorian was alarming as he dramatically summarized the missing pieces; among which included a political conspiracy, a trap, and..,

"Time magic?" I had asked skeptically.

"I should know," he had responded smugly, "I was Alexius' only student." 

The others had protested when I suggested we ally with Dorian.

"A mage from Tevinter?" Vivienne had scoffed. "You think you can trust him? They slave your people."

Even Varric, who rarely says anything negative about anyone, was doubtful, "You have to be careful with magisters, they practice blood magic and readily summon spirits."

After several similar conversations, I wasn't sure what to believe. 

Then I decided. Surely, if half the stories about the Dalish were false, yes, the same could be said of Tevinter.

Besides, under all of Dorian's bluster, he is a magical virtuoso. The first battle we fought together, sealing a wayward rift in the Redcliffe Chantry, had demonstrated this. He flung his staff as if he was invincible. More accurately, as though the high threat level bored him. Within a few minutes, we all the demons were defeated, and we had closed the rift: a new record. How else could Dorian help us?

I am glad I listened to my gut. Dorian's warning saved us. 

\---

When we finally gained an audience with Alexius, I could only manage a few words before I found myself floating in cold water. I turned to see Dorian next to me. His deep brown eyes looked startled as he tried to evaluate our new circumstances. Before we could reach any conclusions, however, we heard the shouts of two guards who had come to investigate the source of the splash. 

Without hesitation, Dorian jumped up and swung his staff with a sharp crack. His muscles rippled in the strange light of what appeared to be a dungeon. As I struggled to regain my footing, the two guards fell into the water with a loud thud. 

"Well, that was easy," Dorian bragged while offering me a hand to pull me up. 

I laughed hesitantly before attempting to wring out the water out my robes. 

"Really? The dampness seems to accentuate your look," he sarcastically teased. 

I blushed deeply before changing the subject, "Where are we?" 

"The burst of light..the amulet, Alexius must have sent us elsewhere in time. The question might not be where, but when…" 

I moved towards guard's bodies, turning one upward before starting to rummage around his belt. I could sense Dorian's eyes on me as I began to unlace a blade and sheath along with what looked to be a set of keys. 

"Resourceful…" he said in an amused whisper. 

"Necessary," I said curtly before walking forwards the stairs that led up out of our unexpected prison. Once I managed to unlock the door, I turned back at Dorian, who stared up at me approvingly. 

"Are you coming?" I called back towards him, leaning heavily on my staff. 

"Try and stop me," Dorian joyfully shouted before jumping up the stairs for us to make our way into the unknown. 

\---

For several tenuous hours, Dorian and I made our way through a future that never was. Cancerous tubers of red lyrium transformed the castle. Wherever we went, demons and pestilence followed. All the empty rooms we walked through had no reminders of their past. Swords and racks of weapons littered the ground. The air somehow felt like evaporated screams that clung to the walls.

It seemed inconceivable that Thedas could ever meet such a fate. It didn't become any more precise when we found Cassandra locked up in a cell. Her eyes glowed red. Her body appeared diminished, as though she had been suffering for months. 

"You're alive?" She had gasped. "You've returned to us. Has Andraste given us another chance? "

It took me a few moments to understand her meeting. 

"No, Cassandra, I'm not back from the dead--where are we?" 

"I was there," she insisted, "You were obliterated." 

"No," Dorian interrupted, "Only a few moments have passed for us. Alexius must have thrown us forward in time. If this is our future, we may be able to return to the present." 

"Return?" Cassandra continued, "You mean you can keep this from happening? As though it never happened." 

"Cassandra," I asked in a hushed whisper, "Can you tell us what is going on?"

And so we learned about the future that never was. The Elder One, a mysterious figure that the Venatori served, had summoned a demon army and killed the Empress of Orlais. In the subsequent chaos, he had remade all of Thedas into a dark and desolate landscape. The castle had been overtaken by red lyrium, which seemed to buzz an obscure song that overpowered my senses. 

\---

I didn't recognize Solas, at first, when we found him. His broad shoulders and chest had withered away to the bone. Even worse, his usually cheerful eyes were cold and hopeless. When we walked up to his cell to free him, all he could do for a few moments was stare at us in disbelief. As Cassandra pushed the door of his cell open, he strolled out, with a slight limp, turning to study each of our faces. 

"This cannot be," he gasped. 

I placed my hand on his arm, half-expecting him to push it away. Only to feel his opposite hand reach for mine, briefly gripping my fingers in his. When I looked him in the eye, he wore a new expression, despite the angst of our surroundings, it was compassionate. Before I could respond, Dorian cleared his throat loudly. 

"So it is," Dorian said, waving his hands," Time-travel and all that. We can sit here and debate what is and isn't possible or look for a way to make sure this world never comes to pass." 

Solas nodded dutifully. "The amulet that Alexius held, that might be the answer to our current struggle." 

"Where can we find him, Solas?" I asked, reluctantly taking my hand back to grip my staff. 

It was Cassandra who answered: "In the throne room." 

Dorian nodded, "Let's go then." 

\---

Not only did we manage to clear out most of the lower levels of the castle, but also to free Leilana. Once united, we found the throne room door locked and immovable. In a fury, I had attempted to send a blast of winter fury only to have frost beams reflected at us. 

"Calm down," Leliana demanded as she pulled me back towards her.

Solas put a reassuring hand on my shoulder before speaking softly, "It looks like there is some sort of mechanism," pausing he took out a red shard he had taken off one of the Venatori's bodies and placed it in an oblong crevice. 

"Yes," of course, Dorian muttered swaying from side-to-side, "His followers would need to reach him, those red lyrium shards that some were carrying must let us in." 

"We should find the rest, and quickly,"Leiliana observed. "We will break up into groups and search in the other rooms. Cassandra goes with Solas and Nym. You will search the Western side. Dorian, with me." 

Dorian sighed as though to protest. 

"Be careful, mage," Leiliana growled, "Or I'll cut out your pretty tongue." 

Grudgingly he turned to behind her, making his outrage clear by muttering under his breath and gesticulating wildly. 

\---

Solas, Cassandra, and I walked carefully through the ruined castle. We passed through rooms that looked to be the old family quarters with ripped tapestries and broken furniture. 

"Here, you two search this room, and I'll look in the next," Cassandra shrugged before kicking open another wooden barricade. "It will go faster this way." 

Solas gestured for me to go in first as though he was escorting me to a ball. For a moment, he seemed more like the elf I knew, graceful and robust. 

I turned to look at the floor, where several fallen Venatori laid on the ground. One, a young man with sandy blonde hair, was twisted in an unnatural pose, his neck snapped, a puddle of blood pooling around his head. 

"Is anything worth this?" I asked Solas absently before bending to riffle through various pouches and hidden spots. 

"Worthy causes usually have a high cost," Solas responded carefully.

For a few minutes, all one could hear was the snapping of buckles and the pulling of threads. I pulled a green velvet pouch from under a cloak, dumping the contents curiously on the ground, relieved to see a glassy red shard reflecting off of worthless gold. 

I held it up to show Solas, who smiled softly before walking over. 

Despite the grim circumstances, my heart fluttered as he knelt to put his hand around mine once again. The terrible world we were in dissolved.

"Nym," he whispered roughly, "I thought you had died... I never had a chance to tell you...I'm sorry for pushing you away." 

I couldn't speak; my heart began to race as I could sense Solas' face inching closer and closer to my own. I hadn't been willing to admit it, but ever since that night in the tent, I had wondered what the taste of his lips might be. Now, I would finally know. I could feel my hands reaching for him; the heat that had been building between us would be realized. I was melting as his grip tightened around mine, his other curling around my waist. 

Only, the moment when our mouths were about to meet, a massive crash from the doorway interrupted us. Our two startled bodies separated quickly as though a bolt of lightning had hit us.

I turned to see a curious Dorian peering into the room. He looked amused, twirling his mustache between two fingers. 

Solas stood slowly. His whole body appeared to shake momentarily, as if he was brushing off some sort of pollen or other dirt. He looked at me mournfully for a moment before his face was once again neutral and aloof as though nothing had happened. 

Dorian looked between the two of us again before interjecting, "Do you need a few more minutes?" 

"I don't get your meaning," Solas replied shortly. 

"Ah," Dorian mused. 

"We found another shard," I said sheepishly, attempting to change the subject. 

"Good! That makes a complete set" Dorian said, "Leliana sent me over here to find you, if we don't leave here soon, it appears we'll have another demon army to defeat." 

He turned, and his quick steps could reverberate off the empty walls. 

Alone again, Solas walked towards the door frame and paused to look at me back. 

Unsteady and exhausted, I walked over to him, reaching my hand out to touch the side of his thin face gently. Solas closed his eyes and briefly smiled before pulling me closer to him. My cheek pressed against his steady heartbeat, and I could count his ragged breaths. 

" _Ar dea deal de den a felasil_ [I was a fool]" he murmured into my hair. 

"I _n alas'en ma ane felasil_ [In another world you are still a fool]," I responded coyly, daring for a second to look up at him. 

Instead of the passionate kiss, I had expected to receive, Solas looked at me again, smiling, his lips found my cheek and puckered sweetly. He pulled away reluctantly, and a sharp moan of protest escaped my lips. 

" _Ar ame felasil_ [I am still a fool]. This is not the time." Solas muttered before walking away. His hand, grabbing for mine, holding it tightly until we reached the others' line of sight. 

\---

Defeating Alexius was not enough to save us. As soon as the magister fell, we could hear the cries of demons approaching. Holding the amulet up to the light of a broken window, Dorian frantically attempted to align the shifting temporal planes within his hands. 

"We'll keep them at bay," Cassandra rallied. 

Solas, who was standing a few feet away from me, nodded dutifully. 

I cried out, reaching my hands out to stop them. 

For a second, Solas grabbed my arm again, "No," he said quietly so the others would not hear, "You are a worthy cause." 

It took everything in me not to follow him. I had to turn and face Dorian not to see them finally leave the throne room. I took his hand in my own, as his incantations reached a frenzied pace. The sharp crack of a body hitting the wall could be heard, and then another. A strange buzzing sensation hit my senses as a portal began to appear next to us... I could listen to another sharp sound as the door was battered open by a thousand claws. Somewhere in the distance, Lelianna began to shoot arrows at growling pride demons. Her prayer to her Maker was the final terrible thing I'd ever know of that bleak world. 

\---

That evening, relieved to be safe again, I sat at the Gull and Lantern watching the celebrations. Sera had found a group of fellow ruffians and slammed down drinks. Iron Bull and his chargers were singing lewd tavern songs, while Varric was busy playing a round of Wicked Grace. Even Cassandra seemed light-hearted, sitting with a group of former Templars. Her hands waved emphatically. I expected she might have found us even more recruits. 

Dorian was sitting with a few of the mages dressed in Tevinter regalia. We had been pleased to find a tiny group that had resisted Alexius imprisoned in the very dungeon Dorian, and I had escaped from in that other alternative world. I shuddered, recalling the sensation. Even if I had managed a hot bath, my skin didn't feel entirely clean, as though the feel of the red lyrium still clung to me. 

It would take some time for me to feel totally at ease. 

For the corner of my eye, I could see Solas sitting by himself, absorbed in some ancient text that a fellow mage had offered him. We had barely been able to explain to him what we had found before he had disappeared. His only question at the end of Dorian's and I's explanation was if I had chosen to conscript the mages. 

"We've already discussed this!" I said to him, curtly annoyed at his failure to recollect our conversation in the blizzard.

"It seems as though we agree on something, Herald." 

Confused by Solas' curtness, and his use of my title, I put my hand to my forehead as if hurt. "I wasn't aware we disagreed on many things, Solas. Or that I needed your approval." 

He only blinked slowly in response as though my comment was beneath him. 

Dorian interrupted awkwardly, "Well, now that's decided, let's figure out what comes next." 

That had been a few hours ago, and I was still angry. Even more so, I was confused. The Solas of the future had admitted his feelings for me, why would this Solas not do so? I played the last few months through my head, the time he came to my cabin in the snowstorm, the occasional looks I'd see from him, or the sensual pressure of his fingers gripping my waist. He had to have feelings for me. Why did he resist?

Was it because I was so young?

Was he promised to another?

So many different scenarios ran through my mind. 

I touched the corner of my lips discreetly, recalling how close the Solas of the future had been to kiss me. Was the present Solas so distant from those feelings? Perhaps there was hope.

Inspired by my recollection, I asked a passing barmaid for two glasses of wine. When they arrived, I picked one up and walked towards Solas at the table, boldly sitting down across with him without waiting for an invitation. 

All around us were laughter and music. Only the two of us were quiet in the entire inn. 

"Herald," Solas said without looking up from his book. "What can I do for you?" 

"You don't have to call me that, _hahren,"_ I snapped.

He looked up at me then curiously. I pushed the second wine glass towards him. 

"I thought you might want to join the celebration," I shrugged, unsure what else to say. 

"Thank you," Solas said cooly, taking the glass and watched the vibrant red liquid swish. 

"It is a good night." I continued awkwardly. "I didn't think I'd be here again." 

"So, you think you two traveled through time?" Solas asked skeptically, "You weren't in the Fade, for instance."

"You forget, _hahren_ , I have already been in the Fade. And I am a mage, do you think I couldn't tell the difference." 

Solas frowned again, but still nodded approvingly, "I suppose that would be the case, da'len." 

"What are you reading?" I asked curiously. 

Solas shifted his weight awkwardly. "A text on the history of Orlais." 

"Oh," I stuttered, no other words quickly coming to me. 

"I must decline," Solas said, shoving his wine glass back towards me untouched. "It is late, and I'm sure you'd much rather be talking with someone more cheerful than myself." 

He stood abruptly before saying, "Good night." 

Shocked, all I could do was sit there for a few moments. The sting of Solas' coldness radiated outwards from my chest. It took all my self-control to keep from bursting into tears as I watched Solas walk up the stairs out of sight. 

I turned, catching a few wayward tears slipping down my face, which I quickly brushed away. I was planning my escape when I felt a steady hand on my shoulder, and before I knew it, I was face-to-face once again with Dorian Pavus. 

"I have to admit that wasn't what I was expecting after what I saw earlier today...or maybe I mean...a hundred or so tomorrows from now? Not sure when I saw what I saw." 

Despite my hurt, I began to laugh. "I don't know what you are talking about," 

"Hot for teacher is always complicated if you ask me." He continued before picking up the glass of wine and slamming it down in one giant gulp. 

"Waste not want not." He continued cheerily before patting my hand, "Now, now, let's get you a few more, and you'll tell Dorian all about this bad man. Unless, of course, you need a distraction. If so, I love to talk about myself."

"Ugh, anything to change the subject. Whatever just happened, I don't need any reminder," I said grimly.

"Yes, I expect we'll be great friends, you and I." Dorian winked. "That is, if you plan to keep me?" 

"Try and stop me," I joked. "I think we're bound together after all we endured today." 

With a jolly snap, Dorian ordered us a bottle of wine and poured me a generous helping grinning. "Who would ever have thought a Dalish elf and Tevinter mage could ever be on such an adventure together?"

Raising my glass to his for a toast, I wiped away the last of my tears, "Well, we have to give the bards something to sing about."

Dorian laughed even harder before taking my hand in one of his and the wine bottle in another.

" Good," he whispered in my ear, seductively," Let's make this sloppy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to this translator for the elven: https://lingojam.com/ElvenDAI\\\
> 
> Getting majorly AU here with upping the tension between Solas & the Inquisitor, but again I like to think it took them months to be open about their feelings.
> 
> Next chapter Dorian will take Nym and the other companions for a wild ride.


	7. A Long Walk to Lake Luthias

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All is well until it isn't. Dorian tries to fit in but he and Solas don't see quite eye-to-eye as they make their way back to Haven.

**CHAPTER VI**

After my adventures in Redcliffe, I was certain Solas had feelings for me. Sometimes I saw a glimpse of something more than general friendliness: a look, a stray touch, or a half-smile when I said something clever. 

" I was a fool to push you away," the Solas in the future had said.

Is this what the present Solas was doing?

I kept remembering the feel of his lips grazing mine in the Redcliffe-that-never was. The urgency of that moment lit an intense fire in me: I wanted him. When he pushed me away in the present, it only served to inflame my desire more.

 _A crush_ is what I told myself. _It will pass._

It was maddening.

Then we spent a few days in Lake Luthias, and things became more complicated.

\---

The ride home from Redcliffe to Haven fueled my confusion. We understood it would take some time for the mages to relocate and for the network of Inquisition spies to determine what further threats we faced from our new enemy, the Elder One. In the pause between sealing the Breach and the full knowledge of what was to come, a peace settled over the companions.

The past two years had been a slog. We barely had stopped traveling from place-to-place doing whatever we could to stabilize Thedas. There had been stolen moments of fun, mostly at local area taverns over a mug of ale, but rarely had we experienced such a relaxing lull. Instead of rushing back to Haven, we took our time meandering through the countryside.

We had traveled almost entirely together to meet the mages, but eventually on the return split into two groups. I would ride with Cassandra, Solas, and Dorian to gather supplies and horses from the Dennet's farm. The rest would go directly to Haven to ready the camp for the incoming refugees.

The journey was pleasant. Except, naively, rather than giving Solas space, Dorian had attempted to learn more about the mysterious apostate elf who did not fall into any easy categories.

"Solas, you aren't a member of the Dalish?" Dorian asked innocently.

"No, I am not," Solas responded shortly.

"So, you are from an alienage?" Dorian pressed.

"No." Solas sighed.

"Then, where are you from?" Dorian continued mindlessly not noticing

"A small village to the North."

"Oh," Dorian breathed, mulling over the information. "I didn't think that elves lived in that region, generally…"

"I didn't realize you were an expert in the business of elves. How many have you known personally?" Solas said it lightly, but his pinched frown signaled his grave displeasure with Dorian's persistent questions.

"Right," Dorian sniffed defensively, "I can't imagine you would give much credit to a mage from Tevinter to care about the suffering of the Elvhen people."

"I didn't accuse you of _anything_ , mage of Tevinter," Solas said dryly. Both men clutched at their staffs ominously, a small dizzying ripple of mana punctuated the air.

"Enough!" I interjected, shaking my head angrily. I raised my staff in warning, ready to smash it to the ground to cast dispel if necessary. Although not a mage, Cassandra could sense the tension, and knelt instinctively with her shoulders raised ready to nullify any errant magic.

My shout distracted both men, who looked at me chastened, Although the two had not taken kindly to one another, neither had planned to allow any disagreement to escalate quickly.

I expected Dorian to be a bit hot-headed, but this type of anger from Solas was uncharacteristic.

Cassandra rose quickly, turning to look at us wearily. Her expression regretful as though she had not considered fully the risks of traveling alone amongst a group of mages. Slowly, all three of us calmed, loosening the grips on our staff.

"We are close to the camp by Lake Luthias, "Cassandra carefully offered as if surrounded by three circling panthers ready to strike. "Perhaps it is time for us to rest…"

"Yes," I agreed. "That is a fine idea."

\---

Our traveling group spent the rest of the late afternoon walking towards the camp in question. The Hinterlands had transformed from an unstable region to a bucolic countryside. Instead of the shouts of battle, one could only hear bird song and the squelch of wet earth under our boots as we trudged through farmland.

A deflated Dorian crept next to me. Cassandra and Solas walked ahead of us at a fast pace as though resolute to put the early afternoon's scuffle behind them.

After an hour of walking in silence, Dorian turned to me to whisper, "I didn't mean to upset the bald elven hobo."

I raised my eyebrow, unsure if I should scold him or laugh at his comment.

"I'm not sure calling Solas a 'bald hobo' is precisely a way to engender warm feelings between you two." I pointed out.

"What! He seems like such a special and unique...snowflake?" Dorian snarled. His tone was cruel, but underneath its surface, I could hear a pang of sadness at Solas' rejection.

In the week since Dorian had joined the Inquisition, he had struggled to develop good relationships with the other companions. In the span of a few days, he had managed to bring Cassandra to outrage when addressing the contribution of the Templar order to the current crises, Blackwall to speechlessness with a particularly lewd anecdote; and (unknowingly) Sera to near tears with stories of his magical bravado. It wasn't that Dorian had ill intentions. Whatever tensions had existed amongst the group had primarily found equilibrium. Dorian upset that balance.

"I think we might all be, in your words, _unique snowflakes_ ," I said slowly. "You just need to give it time for the others to get to know you."

Dorian shook his head in agreement. His face in deep contemplation.

"They follow the Dalish mage, after all. Surely, I can't be all that exotic in comparison."

I laughed humbly, "I'm not sure they follow me... _exactly_. Certainly, not at first. Nor do I think the Inquisition doesn't find me less exotic than they did when I landed in Haven. Dalish, or otherwise."

I reached out my palm with the anchor letting a soft green wave flicker outwards my hand. Dorian watched in fascination as I allowed the emerald light pulsate outwards in an unsteady rhythm.

"You have no idea how it works or where it comes from, do you?" He gasped.

"I've figured out some of the workings, yes, but I do not know its origin. It took others some time to get used to the idea of the anchor, and even longer, I think to get used to me. We all had to adjust and learn."

Dorian stopped to look at the view over the hillside we were slowly meandering up. Cassandra and Solas had walked ahead of us, and had already probably reached the camp. The verdant fields stretched out to one another in a patch-work web of varying shrubbery and crops illuminated by the blush of the setting sun.

I walked up next to him, putting my hand on his arm reassuringly.

"It is hard to get to know Solas, he's not forthcoming."

"I have to say," Dorian continued in a somber voice. "When I first arrived, I thought the two of you were together. Were you?"

I couldn't help but grimace in reaction.

"I didn't mean to dredge up unpleasant memories."

"I'm not sure I would call it unpleasant. It's unknown to me."

"The torrid affair part?" Dorian asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No!" I squawked good-humoredly, "You've met him! He's an enigma."

"Ah," Dorian said, ignoring my evasion. "A 'does-he-or-doesn't-he-situation'? Shall I pluck a daisy for us to determine the answer?"

"A daisy?" I asked skeptically.

"Yes, don't you know the old superstition? You pluck the petals, and ask 'do they' or 'don't they' for each one you...nevermind," Dorian laughed, "What am I saying you're Dalish? You've never heard this before... I'm muttering like a madman."

It was my turn to laugh then.

"I'm glad you joined the Inquisition," I said when I recovered my breath. "Give it time, and I'm sure the others will see your good qualities… I know what it is like, though, to be surrounded by so many people, separated from home, and to feel so lonely."

"Thank you," Dorian said genuinely, his voice warm with appreciation. We stood there for a time, watching the sunset over the fields until the fireflies began to flicker amongst the bushes languidly.

\---

It has never surprised me that most of the rumors surrounding my love life involve Dorian. Our experiences in Redcliffe brought us together, and our status as misunderstood outsiders united us even further. We became inseparable. Years later, I can firmly say I don't know what I would have done without him. However, for the first few weeks that I knew Dorian, I was unsure what to make of his flirting.

His constant _and_ unrepentant flirting.

"My, what a thorough and tender touch you have! Your lovers must never complain…" He said the first night we were camping near Lake Luthias.

I had been stripping a pile of elfroot leaves from the stem and grinding them with a mortar and pestle. Puzzled, I held up my hands, stained a deep green, and intently looked at my wiggling fingers as though they had some sort of miraculous quality I had never considered before.

Again, I was confused. It wasn't that I hadn't received similar comments before. Or, that I didn't understand the double entendres. Instead, I had never considered conversation as sport the way Dorian did.

"Here," he sighed, sitting down next to me, picking up a pile of elfroot and began to assist with my chore. "I say something nice to you. You say something nice back. Banter, that is what we are doing."

"Ok…" I responded, half-listening to him as I diligently plucked small leaves from my giant pile of elfroot stalks.

"So, I said you have a tender touch, blah blah blah, lovers moaning and all that. Now you say…"

I paused, trying to come up with something sensational, only to announce in a stilted tone, "You look..dashing when...you twirl your mustache?"

Dorian fell into a heap on the ground, clutching his head. "I knew I risked injury, but the lack of fun in this group is going to make joining the Inquisition painful."

"Perhaps you can take up a new hobby," I suggested dryly.

"Oh?" Dorian said, rising to look at me hopefully.

"Have you ever tried silent meditation?" My comment wasn't precisely intelligent or elegant, but Dorian laughed, a deep, hearty laugh that had him clutching his sides mirthfully.

"It's a start," he grinned, slapping my arm lightly with great affection.

\---

Although the camp was bustling with Inquisition soldiers, the companions enjoyed a secluded section tucked away from the main stretch of tents. Nestled in a large group of evergreen trees, the four of us had experienced the quiet for most of the evening. Upon arrival, Solas had almost instantaneously stretched his long limbs out on a blanket to read. As the night wore on, he got closer and closer to the fire, holding a book strategically up to the light.

When I had begun my chore of preparing elf root, I would steal looks at him as he sipped at a jug of mulled wine, sometimes scratching down notes or humming when he was particularly intrigued by a specific passage.

As Dorian and I spent more time laughing and, at his insistence, drinking a bottle of misbegotten red wine, Solas' concentration seemed to wane from his book to us. Even when I wasn't looking in his direction, I could feel his eyes intently upon us.

As the night wore on, Dorian and I began to focus less and less on the elfroot. Eventually, abandoning it entirely for Dorian to start a one-person act of a Tevinter drama, a blanket wrapped around his shoulder as though to mimic a ballgown. A few minutes in, I was rolling on the ground, unable to hold any of my laughter in. As Dorian's monologue went on, in the pauses, I could hear Solas in the background, clearing his throat more and more loudly.

Eventually, exhausted by the noise, Cassandra came to an end at the party. "You two," she scolded, "This is quite ridiculous."

"I quite agree with you, Seeker," Solas had said in the background.

Annoyed by his judgment, I turned to look at him directly. "No one asked you," I snapped.

Surprised, I think, by my sudden and aggressive reaction, Solas sat up as straight as possible, his jaw clenched.

"Surely, you don't think such a thing…" Solas began calmly,

"I wasn't aware that you cared about what I think, Solas." I began churlishly, encouraged by my newfound strength.

Solas was about to reply when Dorian interrupted, "Ok, cranky mages are never good friends. Bedtime!"

Before I could get another word in, Dorian pulled me steaming towards one of the tents. After we had taken turns getting ready for bed, I crawled into my bedroll grudgingly, staring angrily up at the tent's ceiling, unable to sleep.

"You shouldn't be angry," Dorian said.

"Why not, I don't need a chaperone," I snapped.

"No, you don't," Dorian agreed coyly. "He's jealous."

"Of what?" I asked.

"Of me." Dorian laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will continue with another Lavellan/Dorian adventure. The group is going to send some time at this camp, more time for flirting & jealousy to happen
> 
> oddly the snowflake dialogue is from Dorian's game


	8. Foraging for Elfroot/Dorian & Lavellan (Figure)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lavellan based on John William Waterhouse's Spring Spreads One Green Lap of Flowers (1910)


	9. Dorian Rows a Boat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The friendship between Dorian and Lavellan grows deeper as the two escape for a fun afternoon. Under the spell of Dorian's antics, Nym reflects on her place within the Inquisition and is inspired by Dorian's rebel may care attitude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is long. Maybe too long. I have a lot of time on my hands right now in quarantine!

**CHAPTER VII**

The next afternoon I found myself lazily reclining in a rowboat floating on Lake Luthias. Dorian and I had spent midday picking bundles of spindleweed and blood lotus to dry until we stumbled upon the abandoned cottage in the middle of the lake. I had walked up to the window to stare inside. The dust had settled on its surfaces, and although the inside showed signs of its former owners, very little remained except for unused furniture and bits of paper littering the floor. 

I sighed, remembering the first time that the Inquisition had arrived in the area to meet Blackwall. We had found him training area farmers in basic attacks to feign off roaming gangs. It wasn't long until his recruits had to put practice into motion when a group of rogue bandits unexpectedly swarmed. By the end of the scuffle, the water ran dark red with blood. Later at night, around the campfire, the smell of corpses smoldering on a nearby pyre hung in the air as myself and my companions silently sat, trying to choke down a slightly burnt dinner. Not even the prospect of getting to know a new friend cheered me up that evening. 

That had been almost two years ago now. In the present day, no signs of such violence remained. The day was warm, and the calm surface water reflected the silver of cloudless sky mixed with the soft greens of the surrounding evergreen trees. It seemed wrong that such a place, surrounded by such natural beauty, would remain empty. Perhaps in time, a family would reclaim it. Or maybe it would rot away unnoticed in a bed of vines. Who could say? 

It was one of the many consequences of the Templar and Mage war. 

It was Dorian who interrupted my reverie. He had turned the corner to pick through the garden for more alchemical ingredients. When he had called for me to join him, I had expected him to have a rare herb in his hand to show me. Instead, I found him pointing to a weathered rowboat tied to the nearby dock. His bronzed arms and perfectly groomed hair seemed out-of-place as did the little decorative bits of metal on his ostentatious outfit flashing in the light. 

"This, my friend, is an invitation for a wonderful afternoon!" He announced while kneeling to untie the thick cord that secured the boat to the dock. 

"I don't know if it is safe. What if it sinks?" 

He paused, looking behind him at the surface of the placid water. "It doesn't look too deep," he said shrugging. "Surely, the Dalish can swim?" 

"I can," I snorted indignantly, "I don't think this is the best idea." 

"Why not? You need to have more _fun_. When was the last time you had any _fun_?" He said, batting at the air in exasperation as though flies harassed him. 

I paused, reflecting again on my last few years in the Inquisition. There were indeed moments where a good joke or a night in a tavern listening to Varric's stories had been entertaining. Occasionally, Sera or Iron Bull would pull an amusing prank on one another. Such moments over the last few years, however, were not often. Nor were they what I would categorize as intentional; instead, they felt stolen away by chance. My need to be industrious at all times went even further back. I had never been an expert of fun as roaming the wilds and ensuring the survival of Clan Lavellan was not, on the whole, a leisurely activity. 

Dorian was right: I could not remember the last time I had ever attempted "fun." 

"Look," he said soberly, "As we speak, Cassandra, the-ever-present-kill-joy, is lounging in the sun. Who knows where the hobo-elf is! I'm sure he's off pompous dreaming in one of his precious ruins. This is an afternoon to have _fun."_

Dorian's words, although critical, were truthful. The other two members of our traveling band appeared to have taken it upon themselves to recoup. When we had set off in the morning to explore, Cassandra had uncharacteristically bid us farewell sprawled out on a bedroll in a field of grass and wildflowers. Her weapons and armor sat in a disorderly pile at her feet for cleaning and sharpening. When I had asked after Solas, she had waved her hand away, saying he had left shortly after dawn with barely a word to look for new places to dream. 

At first, I had been disappointed not to find Solas to resolve whatever argument had passed between us the night before. After some thought, however, I felt some relief, knowing that the conversation would have to wait until at least evening. I needed time and space to process Dorian's late-night assessment: "He's _jealous,"_ he had whispered, " _Of me."_

What did it mean that Solas was jealous? 

Admittedly, at first, I, too, had found Dorian's attention to be romantically inclined. In the span of a few days, however, I discovered his amorous words to be devoid of the heart-racing feelings. Furthermore, I noticed the flirtatious remarks that Dorian made towards the young men we encountered made any said towards me feel sterile in comparison. I firmly suspected, even if Dorian had not explicitly disclosed his sexual orientation, that he did not favor young elven maidens.

How could Solas not also see this?

All of those thoughts rushed through my head. Looking at Dorian standing in front of me, his pleading eyes going back and forth between me and the rowboat, made me consider his words even more carefully. He was right; we all needed to take a moment and relax. Who knew what would come after sealing the Breach? 

"Ok," I said grudgingly. Even if I agreed with Dorian that we needed to find an activity that wasn't a chore, boating was not my idea of a great time. 

"Stop frowning," Dorian chided, "You'll love it! Now be a dear and help me push this boat into the water." 

\--- 

After locating the oars stored in a compartment running the length of the rowboat's bottom, Dorian diligently rowed us to the center of the lake. Even if the sun was at its highest, a band of thick foliage circling the lake shielded us from any intense rays. We spent the first hour following the shade, pausing to enjoy the rest. Every so often, a soft breeze would ripple the water, moving the boat slightly along with its whims. 

It was Dorian who first broke the silence. The boat was roomy enough for both of us to sit comfortably apart but small enough that our feet touched. I was startled to open my eyes and see Dorian staring back intensely at me as if he were seeing me clearly for the first time. 

"What was your life like amongst the Dalish?" He blurted out. 

"Why?" I asked slowly. It wasn't that I was suspicious. Although, Lelianna might have warned me only a spy would think to ask such a question. No, I was surprised that Dorian would be interested to hear the intricate details of foraging, hunting, and trading that made up my day-to-day living amongst the Lavellan clan. 

"I want to know more about you," he said excitedly. "You are also one of the only Dalish elves.. _.well,_ the only Dalish elf that I've had the opportunity to meet. Tevinter isn't exactly friendly to elves, Dalish or otherwise." 

"No, I should say Tevinter is not," I said cautiously. Thinking over the terrible rumors I had heard of what befell elves in Tevinter made me concerned about the outcome of the conversation. I knew that Dorian didn't practice blood magic, or hold anyone race in contempt or superior to one another, but we were still talking about his homeland. If anyone were to sympathize with the deeply binding overtures of one's culture of origin, it might be a Dalish elf. 

I continued with a hesitant sigh, "I would be surprised if you had come across one of the People, the clans avoid that region or anywhere close by at all costs." 

"I hope you know that I'm sincere. I don't mean to bring up the worst parts of my homeland. I imagine you've heard terrible stories about Tevinter." He said while reclining back in the boat almost as if he were retreating. 

I crossed my arms and leaned back in the boat. Although the other companions had asked about this or that regarding the Dalish people, very few had thought to ask such specific questions about my childhood or my opinion on matters outside of the Inquisition business. Dorian's questions, however, offered me the opportunity to speak about the subject of home. A topic I had not had the chance to talk with another about for some time. 

"To answer your question, then, my clan is made up of about fifty or so members. We travel the area around the Free Marches in winged vessels called aravels, pulled by halla, and assisted by the wind. I was the First known to the clans as Tor of the Dunes." 

"Tor of the Dunes?" Dorian chuckled. "How does a man earn such a moniker?" 

"The Fifth Blight, he guided Clan Lavellan to the dunes to the west of the Korcari Wilds, "I replied in a solemn tone, "Many Dalish died from Darkspawn attacks. Some tribes lost all but one or two members. Other tribes have never emerged from the deepest parts of the wild. We escaped unscathed because none thought to venture there." 

"Yes, but…" Dorian started to interrupt. 

"Wait, I haven't told you the most important part of this story." I said, putting a hand up to cut-off the mage, "You have to understand that Tor led the clan to the Dunes before the Blight began. Before the Hero of Ferelden appeared, before even the battle when Teyrn Loghain abandoned the Grey Wardens to the Darkspawn horde." 

"How?" Dorian said in a skeptic but a not unkind voice. 

"He had a dream." I said as though such a thing was obvious, "He's a seer." 

"The entire clan migrated hundreds of miles to a mostly uninhabited islet because of a dream?" Dorian observed. "I've never heard of such magic. Do you see the future? Can all Dalish mages do it?" 

"I didn't think that other mages couldn't." It was my turn to be confused, "I don't have such abilities, but I also didn't think that such things were particular to the Dalish." 

"I shouldn't be so mystified by this story. Surely, with the Breach in the sky and Alexius' ability to travel through time, I can't claim to know all forms of magic circulating in Thedas." 

"No, you're right to note how unusual this is." I continued, "thanks in large part to Tor, my tribe is unorthodox. We freely trade with humans and even have rescued one or two. However, we still keep to the way. For instance, everyone has a job that is strictly their job. If you are a halla keeper, you tend to the halla...If you are a hunter, you take care of foraging and butchery, and so on…" 

"I get the picture," Dorian said in a kindly tone. 

"Yes," I laughed, "Only with Tor the Clan doesn't exactly follow dogma. We don't, for instance, view him some sort of royal descendent of Arlathan...and I like to think as a community Clan Lavellan is less sanctimonious about Dalish blood purity rituals…"

"But your face?" Dorian curiously asked, touching his face as though it too was covered in an ornate tattoo. "That is a Dalish tradition." 

" _Vallaslin_ is the word you are looking for. It is one of the oldest and least variable traditions amongst all the clans. The different patterns are in homage to different gods and goddesses of the elven pantheon. Mine is in honor of the elven goddess Sylaise. The stories say she is the one that taught the elves to wind rope and thread and watch over the domestic arts. Dalish youth receive them when they reach adulthood." 

I put my hands to my face, self-consciously tracing the lines along my face. I didn't need a mirror to know how the edges curled around my forehead and cheeks. Mine were still fresh, and the memory of the pain over the long hours it took for the ink to be pressed into my face with hot needles still strong. I could still recall the ancient songs that Tor had sung in dulcet tones as I choked down the impulse to scream out. I had received them shortly before my departure to the Conclave. Even three years later, they had a slightly raised quality as though the needle had been plunged into my skin the afternoon prior. 

Dorian furrowed his brow in deep thought. "Do you believe in the elven gods and goddesses?" 

"Do you believe in Andraste?" I asked rhetorically. 

"Bits and pieces," he replied, twisting his mustache between his two fingers as he often did when mulling over anything complicated. 

"I wasn't going to use those words exactly, but now that you say it, I think that's a good way to describe what I think of the Elvhen Pantheon. Some of it must be true, but what parts? Tor taught me to reason about the world. To look at what is in front of me and see what resources I had at hand to solve any given problem! Sometimes, that was knowledge derived from Dalish folklore. Other times it's an Antivian knife trick,,." 

It was Dorian's turn to smile. "You're not at all who I expected to meet when I went to find the Herald of Andraste." 

"Who did you think you would meet?" I asked eagerly. 

"Someone older than you for one. How old are you exactly?" 

"A little over twenty summers." I replied in earnest, "How old are you?" 

Dorian practically chortled. "Maker's Breath the heir apparent to one of the up-and-coming war machines of Thedas, and you are barely past adolescence." 

"I am not that young! How old are you?" I snorted. I hated having to repeat my question. 

Dorian's laughter grew deeper. He could barely stay sitting. "My dear, I am over thirty." 

I could feel my face turn a bright red. I wasn't angry at Dorian, per se, but I didn't appreciate the other companions continually commenting on my age. It had grown tiring. 

"I'm sorry...Nym don't be angry," Dorian said, trying to catch his breath. "You are certainly wise beyond your years. One-of-a-kind." 

I groaned, Turning away from Dorian with an exasperated sigh. 

"No, I'm sorry to ruin this conversation," Dorian said thoughtfully. "I don't mean to dwell on your youth except to convey how in awe I am of you. When I was your age, I spent an entire month drunk on bad wine in the worst part of Minrathus." 

"How did you end up there?" I asked, attempting to repress in my voice how flabbergasted I found the idea of being that intoxicated for that long. It seemed like an awful amount of work and coin. 

"I had escaped the worst of the circles my parents had sent me to. Their last attempt as they called it. It was awful and full of bluster about discipline and the supremacy of mages. I hated it." 

"Weren't you worried about the consequences?" I asked in a worried voice. 

"No, but it is a good thing I went on such a romp, for it was Alexius who came and found me. So amused was he, by my lack of restraint mixed with such strong magical capabilities, he took me on as his one and only pupil. If I hadn't left under such scandalous circumstances, who knows where the Inquisition would have ended up!" 

"I'm not sure that I'd equate such fate with your bad decision making. I don't want to encourage you too much." I said dryly. 

"Now that," Dorian said, erupting with laughter once more, "Is exactly what you should be doing." 

\---

Our conversation had distracted Dorian from rowing to cooler parts of the lake. By the time our attention returned to our surroundings, the sun had caught up with us. Although my skin had tanned over the years, I could feel the scorching heat begin to burn. I noticed tiny beads of sweat had started to fall Dorian's brow. Even drenched, he appeared majestic, almost as if he were an extravagant and otherworldly bird. 

"It's hot," he said dramatically, using his hands to fan himself.

I looked down at my outfit, a thin white cotton tunic that tied around my waist. I wore a leather vest over it that buttoned. My leather leggings, the color of moss, were too hot even if my feet were bare in the Dalish style. Each article on my body felt heavy and unwanted. Shifting my weight from side-to-side, I began to tug at the buttons to remove the extraneous layer. As my hands worked, Dorian's hands were mirroring mine, unbuckling his armor and pulling his shirt over his head and depositing it in the bottom of the boat. 

"Dorian," I exclaimed desperately. "What are you doing!" I hadn’t meant for him to take of his clothes.

"Going for a swim," he replied, arching his eyebrow coyly. "I suggest you do too." 

I looked around at the peaceful lake in distress. I was torn in two directions. On the one hand, the coolness of the lake called to me. I had bathed whenever I could, in an inn, or Haven, but no bath could replace the feeling of swimming in a lake. There was something indignant about the _shemlin_ bathing rituals that required sitting in the accumulating dirt that one washed from one's skin. I had missed the openness lakes and rivers had provided. Still, I couldn't discount how improper it was to be naked with a man I barely knew.

"Oh, stop being a goody-goody," Dorian said as though he could read my thoughts as clearly as a magical treatise. "Do I need to give you the lecture on the fun again?" 

I shook my head, no. Even if I was inclined to let-loose, it was hard to repress the embarrassment conditioned in me over a lifetime at the prospect of mixed-gender bathing. The Dalish were not moralists (and certainly not when compared to those who kept to the Chantry-way), but clans fell in line with strict social constructs. It wasn't that sex or romance were frowned upon, but partners were selected carefully over long periods of consideration. There would be nothing worse to upset the harmony of the clan than interpersonal drama. For this reason, or so the elders told me, genders must be kept apart for such activities, least such things led to indecency. 

It wasn't a stance I agreed with, but considering that I had never engaged in any courtship, I didn't have any experience of what it might be like otherwise. 

I became even more aware of my inexperience, after tugging off his boots and socks, Dorian stood, turned, and dropped his trousers without a second thought. I caught a brief flash of his perfectly molded bottom illuminated by the sunlight.

\---

"Nym, don't be silly. The temperature is perfect." 

"I don't think so, Dorian." 

"Oh please, I can see you dripping with sweat." 

"I'm fine, Dorian." 

"I won't look, I promise." 

"It isn't a good idea." 

"Remember when the boat wasn't a good idea? " 

"That is not the same thing." 

"You look like you want to go swimming." 

"You are so full of shit, Dorian." 

"Are you embarrassed about how you look?"

"No!" 

"Remember when the boat didn't sink?" 

\---

It didn't take long until Dorian's pleas wore me down. The air was hot and growing more and more oppressive. As I began to sweat in earnest, my clothes clung to my body unpleasantly. The mud and dirt I had collected over the last few days chafed at my skin. I wanted to tear my clothes from my body and be clean.

Not to mention, more and more, I felt the urge to be bolder and hesitate less. Over the last few years, I had been, at times, frustrated at balancing the burdens that I alone carried in the Inquisition with the ambiguity surrounding my authority. Generally, the companions listened to my thoughts and opinions. It wasn't that I didn't have sway. Instead, I felt that my youth made the others hesitant to follow my lead or act as if I needed a chaperone whenever I made a decision, small or large. 

Iron bull, for instance, wouldn't hesitate to do what he thought necessary for his Chargers. He would, however, ask me if I had enough experience when I made my suggestion regarding battle-strategy. Varric would listen when I went to ask him for his advice about a tricky situation but would say, "Slow down kid," if I said anything with too much enthusiasm. Blackwall might drink to the point of drunkenness but would count how many mugs of ale I poured down my throat. Even Josephine, my closest confidant after Dorian, would sometimes even say something along the lines of "You might not know this after living amongst the Dalish, but …" 

And Solas? Solas was the worst of them, not by anything he said. If he was jealous of Dorian, why did he not act upon his desire? The darkest parts of my imagination could only wonder at what he must think of me: " _She is too young for me." "Gawky and awkward." "How could she know what her true feelings are?"_

I could feel the heat building, not only in my physical body but in my anger at the paternalistic comments I endured even after I had, in my mind, demonstrated myself to be a capable and dependable leader. 

It was time for me to assert myself! 

It would begin with jumping into this lake naked. 

"Ok," I announced confidently to a whopping Dorian. "I'll come in, but you have to look away." 

"My eyes are closed!" Dorian said, swimming farther from the boat to give e a sense of privacy.

Starting with my shoes, I tugged, I yanked and tore away at every piece of my sodden clothing. As I lifted my shirt over my head, the feel of open-air on my skin renewed a sense of peace in me. When I finished, I carefully edged myself towards the end of the boat, sitting on its side, I leaned back and let myself fall in with an unrepentant splash. 

\---

Dorian and I swam through the end of the afternoon. The feel of the lake was crisp and refreshing. For some time, both of us floated dreamily upon the water's surface. As the sun began to set, a balmy glow of hot pink began to soak into the waves. Reluctantly, Dorian suggested we start our walk back to the camp. Regretful that our tranquil afternoon was coming to an abrupt end, I took as long as possible swimming back to the rowboat. 

Over the last few hours, I had grown less self-conscious of my body in front of Dorian. Sensing no lingering looks from his direction, I had stopped actively hiding from his gaze as we moved about the lake Without a second thought, I was pulling myself up the side of the rowboat when suddenly I heard a yelling from the shoreline. 

It was Solas. 

"Nym! Dorian! Where are…" he called out, his hands drawn up around his mouth in an attempt to project his voice farther. 

His eyes found me before I had a chance to duck. I was standing, albeit slightly hunched over, in the middle of the boat, directly in his line of sight. Caught off-guard, I didn't have the sense to cover my bare flesh with my hands. Mortified, all I could do was awkwardly stare back at him, my mouth agape. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ Tor is obviously not canon. Precognition is not an ability I recall present in any of the Dragon Ages. Still, I can't help but tweak some of Nym's story.  
> \+ Solas doesn't have a good look lately, don't worry, next chapter he redeems himself a bit.  
> \+ The middle of this chapter is a bit repetitive with lore for most readers but I wanted to give a sense of my Inquisitor's stance on some of the Dalish traditions.  
> \+ Nym also becomes less young and more determined as the story goes on. Right now in the early phases, I want to highlight how she must feel coming of age as, in Dorian's words, "heir apparent to one of the biggest war machines in Thedas."


	10. Sunset

**CHAPTER XIII**

Almost a decade has passed since that early evening when Solas stumbled upon Dorian and I swimming nude in Lake Luthias. And yet, even given the time that has elapsed, I still feel the powerful longing that erupted when our eyes met.

Up until that point, Solas and I had only risked secret glances that lacked a recognizance of any mutual desire. I confess: the rational part of me acknowledged that I found Solas attractive. However, when I admired him at dinner or sitting at the evening campfire, I was unwilling to admit that my wanting for him was anything other than a passing infatuation. Similarly, when I sensed his gaze upon me I didn’t want to place any hope upon it. I thought that any consideration on his part was also passing whim, one perhaps unspecific to my person. The look we exchanged at that moment upturned that assumption; and, although it would still be months before I felt his touch upon me, I could no longer deny the heat between us. 

Nor could he. 

Dorian was uproariously laughing in the background. His feet were madly splashing in the lake as he hurriedly made his way back to the rowboat. And yet I barely heard him. 

Instead, I was aware of water pooling over my goosebumped skin; the pink sunset deepening my flush, and a tightening sensation deep within my stomach that simultaneously brought to mind a pinch and a flutter. When Solas had called out from the shoreline, I had just begun to collect my clothes unaware. My slight frame was hunched over in the rowboat, as I was about to pull my tunic over my head. A task I quickly abandoned when I was startled by his call for us. 

My first instinct was to cover myself. That inclination shifted when I saw Solas on the shore. Despite the fact that he stood some distance away, I could see his face transform from surprise to fever. Although Solas carefully guarded his emotions, he seemed incapable of such when he saw me standing there before him. His usually aloof exterior faltered, and I found my body reacting to his gaze. I realized that I didn’t mind, even if I had been initially embarrassed, for him to see me like this. In fact, I enjoyed it. Dropping my hands to my side, I straightened my back, unremorsefully pushing my small breasts and hips forward, careful not to shift my balance too much and have the boat capsize. 

The afternoon had made me bolder and I would not have my desire cowed. 

The Solas of that alternative and abysmal future had given me a similar look to the one the present Solas gave me. That “future Solas,” as I had termed him in my head, had gasped too upon seeing me. That gasp, however, had been one of a dying man. It did not carry the rush of newness that the present Solas had, his stance tightening as though he was processing a sudden burst of knowledge. Nor too, had the future Solas attempted to stifle his exhale, as the present Solas did, his hands clenching desperately. Still, he could not take his eyes away from mine. Nor could I mine from his. 

We were lost in each other. 

It was only a few moments that we stood in such a fashion. Still, there was no going backward. It was not, for lack of a better metaphor, like dumping one’s pack out, reorganizing the contents, and primly putting everything back together as it once was. No, it was more approximate to digging up a rosebud bush or shattering a china plate. No matter how carefully one would try, it would be impossible to put things back to order. Not even someone as fastidious as Solas. 

I raised my hand to tuck a piece of escaped hair behind my ear, thinking back to that night in the tent. I recalled the feeling of his thumb pressing into my flesh just barely touching underneath my breast. That had been the touch of a predator, who was in control of its prey. _“You do not want that part of me,”_ he had whispered, _“For that is a part of me without rest.”_ That part of him. I knew he would continue to keep it submerged, but it had been let loose. 

He would have to learn to live with it. 

\---

As Dorian closed the distance and began to approach the boat, Solas cleared his throat deeply. ‘Ir Abelas, _da'len_. I’m sorry, Dorian !” He said, turning away from his covering his face. His tone was circumspect. On the surface it was casual, but the cadence was slightly clipped and short. 

I crouched and held on to the edge of the boat as Dorian pulled himself in. When he settled, he could barely tug on his own clothes, he was laughing so hard at the spectacle. He was not so ignorant to have missed the tete-a-tete between Solas and I. He had, however, not been privy to the more nuanced bits of the encounter in his speed to return to the boat. Shrugging nervously when Dorian mouthed “Maker’s Breath!” to me, I put my clothes on one-by-one, watching as splotches of water soaked into my tunic as it touched my skin. 

When he had finally finished dressing, Dorian had shouted out to Solas on the shore in a sing-song voice “You can turn around now!” Solas made what sounded like a forced laugh. I put my head in my hands sheepishly. Dorian was swift to row back to shore. The ride was still long enough for me to cycle through a thousand dismal possibilities for the outcome of our arrival. 

I was surprised to find Solas leaning casually against the wall of the cabin. His arms were crossed but it was not the stance a _hahren_ ready to chide their _da'len._ He had recovered from his shock, and although still seemingly aloof, his sensual mouth was turned upwards in a half-smile. Was he amused?

“It seems like I missed quite the afternoon,” he chuckled. Again, his voice was warm, but when I looked closely at his clenched jaw, I sensed some turmoil brewing in him. Although I couldn’t be sure, I recognized the possibility that he thought he had walked into a lover’s tryst, not two platonic friends cooling off in the early summer heat. Surely, if he thought so, how might he contextualize what passed between us? It seemed like too complicated a subject to bridge on the walk back to camp. It was certainly not a subject I would want to broach with an audience. The discussion would have to wait for another time and place. 

“It was hot,” I said sheepishly, digging my toes into the wet earth as Dorian secured the rowboat back to the dock. 

“I don’t think the rowboat would complain at being put to its intended purpose.” Solas offered poetically. 

“No…” I said shaking my head unsure how to carry the conversation further. 

“Shall we return to camp then?” Solas said smoothly, ignoring my awkward stutter, “It will be dark soon.” 

I could only nod my head in agreement as the three of us began our walk back to camp. 

\---

That night, Dorian and I continued to sort the herbs we had collected over the morning. We carefully separated the leaves from the stalks of elfroot; untangled the roots of spindleweed; and plucked each blossom of blood lotus to later grind into any number of potions. The two of us had settled into an amicable silence, the activities of the afternoon having exhausted our rowdiness. 

I did not feel content, dwelling on the early moments of that afternoon. Our evening was no different than the night before except for the quiet. Cassandra was polishing her armor, meticulously cleaning each part, without a glance upwards. Solas was again lounging by the fire. He was not reading this evening, instead, holding a thin piece of graphite between his fingers deftly sketching in a leather-bound book. Neither party had given us much attention as the evening wore on. 

“Listen,” Dorian said to me with a hum, “I’ll be right back…” He stood up abruptly, his humming increasing in crescendo and tempo as he walked through the woods towards the area where a make-shift latrine had been dug by the camp’s soldiers. I shook my head, suppressing a yawn, when I heard soft steps approaching. 

Turning, I saw Solas walking over, his gate graceful in the fire’s illumination. Before I could greet him, he knelt down beside me, the necklace he always wore of the charred jawbone, hanging between us. His face, so close to mine, as it had been in the future, made me think of the moment when I had thought I might kiss him. Aware of Cassandra’s eyes upon us, I pulled back to a chaste distance. 

Solas mirrored the gesture, pausing to take a breath before he spoke quietly. “I sensed an ancient Elvhen artifact nearby. Perhaps you might accompany me tomorrow to find it?”

“Sensed?” I asked.

“I saw it in a dream,” he said evasively, “If it is what I think it is, it might help us measure the veil, thereby increasing our effectiveness in stabilizing the Breach.” 

“I’d be happy to help, Solas,” I said as confidently as I could muster. “I know Cassandra and Dorian would be happy…”

“No,” Solas cut me off. “You and I should go, the others will have no interest in the business of the elves.” 

“If you think that is best,” I said, trying to suppress my joy at the invitation. 

I could hear Dorian once again lurking in the background, his humming obnoxiously contrasting with the sounds of crickets in the background. 

“We’ll leave at dawn,” Solas said before rising to resume his sketching across the way, seemingly absorbed in his own internal world without any heed for what passed around him. Taking his lead, I proceeded to sort the elfroot, blood lotus and spindleweed as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. My hands, out of practice, did not tremble, even if my thoughts were overtaken by a yearning for a certain _hahren._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ I like to think of this scene as resembling Sandro Botticelli's Birth of Venus (c. 1484–1486)  
> +I am going to go through and do a deep clean of the earlier chapters.  
> \+ A little against canon for Solas and Lavellan to go traipsing off by themselves next chapter, but hey! Expect more Elvhen business.


	11. Measuring the Veil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Nym adventure towards the relic and connect over Nym's origin story and learning new magic. Nym also explains how she got her nickname to a bemused Solas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little dark. Nym does not have a happy origin story. Death and child abandonment.

**Chapter IX**

As Solas requested, we set off shortly after dawn. Before bed, we had taken a moment to inform our companions about our plans. Solas had been correct that neither Dorian or Cassandra were enthusiastic about joining us. Admittedly, I sensed that Dorian was intrigued about the idea of a long-lost artifact and would have gladly come along with encouragement. If he felt any lingering disappointment, however, he kept it to himself if only out of deference to me. Besides, as Dorian had later confessed in our tent, he looked forward to sleeping-in late one more time before we resumed our trip to Haven as we planned to leave the camp the day after Solas and I located the heirloom. 

Who knew when our next opportunity for rest would be? 

I rose with trepidation. Generally, Solas preferred riddles to clarity. I knew that his invitation to look for the Elvhen relic was more in line with his desire to play at a puzzle together than a romantic overture. Despite this ambiguity, all of our interactions seemed in line with an on-going match between predator and prey. One of us would make a move forward as the other would step back. Both of us, as incredibly stubborn individuals, seemed to rely on this dependable pattern to keep us from admitting our growing feelings for one another. 

Our encounter at the lake threw that order into question. I didn't expect, knowing Solas that we would come to any resolution on our adventure today. However, it had put me in an awkward position as the moment we had shared made me realize that my desire was not a girlish phase. I was eager to give in to my feelings but wary of the consequences. The crisis at hand was still more significant than our whims as the Inquisition needed us both to remain level-headed if we were to close the Breach. Who could even say if Solas planned to stay in the Inquisition after that quest was complete? His loyalty, as far as I could discern, was not to our organization, but to the quest to stabilize the rifts. Surely, he would rather spend his days dreaming in the wilderness than looking for hidden clues about the "Elder One." 

Even though I was unclear about what motivated Solas' invitation, I woke earlier than necessary to put extra attention into my appearance. In the near dark, careful not to rouse a snoring Dorian, I brushed my hair until the silver strands gleamed. Next, I twisted intricate braids around the crown of my head. Looking through my pack, I selected the best of my traveling clothes: a thin white tunic with slightly puffed sleeves, an ornate black vest that cinched tightly at the waist before falling below my knees (enchanted to repel blasts of magic), and pantaloons made out of a gauzy black material that flowed until the fabric tucked into a tight band around the ankle. I had been lacing up my boots until I switched at the last moment to Dalish slippers made of tooled leather that ended at the toe box. 

With one final satisfied look at my ensemble, I picked up my pack and staff before opening the tent flap and walking out into the morning light. My heart palpitated when I saw Solas sitting on a log near the fire pit, his pack and staff leaned haphazardly next to him. He was looking up towards the sky, the sun highlighting his fair features and aquiline nose. His smile widened when he saw me standing there. 

"Ina'lan'ehn _dhea, da'len"_ [A beautiful morning] he said in a cheery voice while standing up and slinging his pack over his shoulder. He was wearing one of his usual outfits, a blend of mossy green knits that obscured his muscular frame. I couldn't repress thoughts that he dressed so modestly to camouflage his striking features. 

" _Aneta ara, hahren,"_ I said, exchanging his greeting shyly. 

We paused to stare at one another in the morning light. The heat of yesterday still lingered in the air. For a second, I found myself wondering if Solas would walk over and kiss me, given the admiring look he gave me, only to see his face quickly transform to sadness. Again, I found doubt clouding my thoughts, flustered at the idea of how to make my feelings known to such a mercurial man without making a fool of myself. His face, so grave before me, made me suspect that whatever intense synergy we had would never find fulfillment given his reticence and my inexperience. 

"Shall we leave? I feel that luck will be on our side today," Solas asked in a kind voice. 

"Ma _nuvenin,_ as you wish, _hahren_." I nodded. 

\---

We began our walk down the mountain towards the crossroads. According to Solas' estimates, it would take us until early afternoon to locate the artifact. We took care to stay near silent as we left the camp to ensure that we wouldn't wake the soldiers not on watch. When we made our way down the hill, we continued quietly. It wasn't long before the awkwardness vanished, and I was enjoying looking at the dewy fields and mist rolling off the mountain. I began to hum quietly along with the birdsong, stepping gingerly over the larger rocks in the road, no longer self-conscious of Solas' gaze. 

The two of us fell into a relaxed and comfortable walk side-by-side. We'd follow the roads when it seemed prudent, occasionally diverting from the path to look at this or that cluster of flowers or other alchemical ingredients. Whenever we came across a useful one, Solas would pause to show me, explaining its properties in a husky voice as I looked in wonderment. When we had met, I had considered myself formidable in my grasp of herb lore. After a few demonstrations by Solas, I had learned there were significant gaps in my knowledge. 

We were sitting in the center of a lush bush of crystal grace, carefully plucking the rare leaves and petals when Solas looked up at me with a sudden intake of breath. I looked at him expectantly, thinking he might launch into another lesson on how to properly use a knife to cut the most usable parts of the flowers. 

"Forgive me for the asking, Nym, but I've been wondering for some time," 

"Yes?" I turned to him curiously, dropping my knife into a pile of greenery in front of my crossed legs. 

"I don't know of any Elvhen name such as Nym, except for the sound…"

"...that the quail makes," I said gruffly, finishing his sentence. 

"Yes," he replied. "However, did you…"

"My name isn't Nym, it's Ellana."

Solas looked at me slightly flabbergasted. "Your name is Ellana?'

"When I was a girl, I made a sound like a quail, so my tribe started calling me Nym. Well, Nym-nym-nym." I said mimicking the bird call while using my hands to make a gesture of a bird's beak. "Eventually, that was shortened to Nym." 

"You never said," Solas chuckled in surprise, "Does anyone in the Inquisition know this fact?" 

"None of them ever asked. Although I expect our dear spy mistress knows more about my history than I do." 

"Should I call you Ellana?" He asked somberly. 

"No!" I said, wrinkling my nose. "I wouldn't know to answer."

"What do your parents call you?" he teased, "Surely, they wouldn't go along with such a…" 

Before he could finish his sentence, I could feel my face fall. Over the last few years, I had primarily been able to avoid specific questions about my childhood. To the other members of the Inquisition, there was a generic quality to my Dalishness. Usually, my companions were only interested in culture and etiquette, thereby letting me evade the subject of my parents and my less-than-happy origins. 

Solas stopped cutting leaves and looked back at me, a concerned look on his face. 

"I'm sorry," he said in a grave voice, "I didn't realize…" 

"No, I just haven't thought of it for some time. My parents died of a fever when I was very young. " 

"I'm sorry, I assumed..." 

For the first time in our conversation, I paused and looked into his gray-blue eyes. He was watching my face closely with high concentration. 

"I don't know why you wouldn't. It's not a happy story. Half the clan I was born into died the summer of my fourth year of sweating sickness. It struck fast and hard, and within two days, both my parents died. It's well…" 

I watched as Solas put down his knife and plants and moved to sit closer to me. As he grew nearer, I was aware of how I barely came up to his shoulder. I was petite, even for an elf, and sitting next to him made me feel at ease. 

"It's how they knew I was a mage," I continued, "My mother succumbed to the sickness a few hours after they buried my father. The Keeper found me trying to heal her even though she died several hours prior. I don't remember much, but the mana was shooting out from my fingers in blue waves. The Keeper had screamed out when she saw me." 

I paused, putting down a leaf that I had been absently twirling, "Tor told me she was frightened because she was orthodox in her interpretation of magic and thought it should only be practiced in strict observance of Dalish ritual. She accused me of using my magic to keep me from getting sick and, in my ignorance, brought down the wrath of the Fen'Harel…" 

Solas quickly straightened his back as though hit by a jolt of lightning before interrupting in a loud voice, "Surely, she intended such a warning as an allegory..." 

I shook my head decisively, bewildered at his defensiveness on the subject. I didn't take him for a follower of any of the Elvhen pantheon. Nor had I seen him react so strongly to any matter before. 

"No, I wish that were the case. She said that to me verbatim. The clan believed that the sickness was punishment for having more than two mages. A month later they came across Clan Lavellan and abandoned me in the middle of the night without a word as I slept by the fire. It took some time, but Tor pieced together the story and raised me like I was his daughter." 

The memories of Tor's kind face when he found that morning washed over me. His blue _vallaslin_ in honor of Mythal twisted in a smile as he picked me up in his arms. I had been in shock for the first few days, and he had taken me by the hand as he went about the clan's business, talking to me in gentle tones and pointing out things that might be small wonders to a child: the birds and halla; the trees and plants; and the stars and moon. I missed him terribly. 

Solas interrupted my reverie, "What shameful superstition…" 

"I feel sorry for them, my birth clan," I said, thinking out loud, "The Keeper forbade me from speaking as though that could stop me from practicing magic. So for two whole bewildering and frightening months, I remained with them. I didn't even dare to shed a tear as she had me believing that if I uttered one more syllable, the Dread Wolf would manifest in the flesh, and he would personally smite us all. How ridiculous!" 

I began to laugh, partially out of the awkwardness I felt at sharing such a vulnerable part of myself and partly because it was my historical alternative to crying when I thought of that dark time in my life. I was relieved when Solas changed the subject. 

"You don't fear the Dread Wolf?" Solas asked curiously. 

"Why would I?" I shrugged. "If Fen'Harel walks across Thedas, I hardly think it rational to believe I would attract his wrath simply by casting a spell." 

I might be cautious with such claims about a legend if I were you. Remember, you are a woman who walked physically through Fade and came out unscathed."

His voice seemed light as though he was teasing me. However, the sad look on his face returned, and I saw him lightly touch the charred jaw bone around his neck as though he too was remembering a dark part in his own life. I didn't sense anything threatening from him, but the conversation made me shiver as though I had just heard a ghost story. 

"I think we both can agree that Keeper's interpretation of Fen'Harel has nothing to do with legend, only superstition," I replied distantly. 

Solas momentarily winced, "I didn't mean to sound like I was mocking you. I admire you and your tenacity. I hope you understand that." 

I looked at him, quizzically mulling his praise over. He looked at me intently again, and I felt a deep blush spread across my face. Bashfully I looked away from him and changed the subject. 

"I know you don't hold the Dalish in high regard, but most tribes are not that extreme. You have to know how different they all are in tone and form. Although collectively, I don't think many are very reflexive about that point and think all the clans speak the same message as though they share a single mouth." 

"No," Solas said, leaning back, "Perhaps at one point in time, that was true."

I was curious again at how Solas knew so much of this "truth." It was one thing for me to criticize the Dalish way, but another for an outsider to claim some specialized knowledge. I didn't think he intended to be patronizing, but whenever we reached this point in our conversations, I felt some small rebellion. Instead of pushing back, however, I saw an opportunity. 

"Did you have much contact with the Dalish when you were younger?" I asked, trying to see if sharing my story would prompt the reticent mage to reciprocate the gesture. 

"No. I was born in a small village so remote that not even the Dalish travel there. I quickly turned to ruins and dreaming as the world I was born into faded away entirely. That, however, is a story for another day." 

He looked up at the sky again, his hands shielding his eyes as he calculated the time by the shadows passing over the ground. "We should return to the mission at hand if we want to return to camp by the evening," he said quietly. 

I nodded, satisfied with the most extended description Solas had ever offered of his life before joining the Inquisition. I quickly gathered our foraged herbs into small leather pouches, the type that diligent mages always carry with them. Solas extended his hand to help me up, and I took it gladly, enjoying his firm grip pulling me up from the ground as though I weighed next to nothing. 

"You know," he said as his eyes glittered mischievously, "I quite enjoy your quail impression, but it doesn't wholly convince me yet. Can you demonstrate it for me one more time?" 

I made an exasperated snort and ignored any of his coaxing to make the sound again as we finished walking towards our next destination. 

\---

We walked past the crossroads and turned the corner to a sunny ridge of stony hills. To the untrained eye, the open field seemed nondescript. However, looking closely at the grounds of grass revealed a bevy of ancient rocks littering the area. Some were worn away by time and rain. Other stones were covered in blankets of moss and overgrown grass. The sandy soil had prevented any farm from taking root, leaving this secret primeval place to its inevitable erosion. 

"The artifact is close by," Solas said, closing his eyes in deep concentration. "Can you feel the veil here? It is thin, and spirits constantly stir under the surface." 

"No," I frowned, as I had never thought much about the veil before, preferring to leave well enough alone. 

"Here," he commanded, gesturing for me to stand next to him. I walked over expectantly to feel his hand on my arm. I could tell by his eyes that it was not a necessary touch, such as a healer's hands on the sick or a Chantry priest offering absolution, instead of an excuse to make contact. Before I could react, however, he began his lecture, "Close your eyes, and breathe as deeply as you can manage." 

I did what I was told. "Focus past the physical senses of your body, and turn your attention solely upon the mana that runs through you." 

I opened my eyes impatiently and snipped, "Really, this is how one connects to the Fade?" 

"Always the cheeky skeptic, da'len _,"_ he laughed. 

I could feel his mana encircle me buzzing slightly at my senses. It felt like he had cast a barrier, but there was a more profound, mysterious edge to it. Instead of resisting, I closed my eyes again, breathing deeply. 

"Good, now pull from your mana like I did as though you are mirroring me and tell me what you feel." He said in his best _hahren_ voice.

I closed my eyes to focus on the surging magic that itched at my senses. Spells had always come easily to me, but I had never given thought to its structure. It was merely a part of me that flowed through me as blood or air did. As I pulled from its source, the floating bits of white light, the after-image of my sight, changed to soft rolling waves of color that transformed my body from some sort of dense, weighted thing into an expansive and free-flowing mist. I felt like I was elsewhere, but all at once connected to the world overwhelmed by a humming that pulsated like a bottomless heartbeat. 

My mana felt more robust, more accessible as the anchor began to sputter gently. 

I gasped, unsure what had just passed over me. 

Solas grinned, "Think of it as a different type of circulatory system. I am surprised that most mages don't routinely notice how the veil isn't an unchanging and constant thing." 

"Is that a spell you use?" I asked, feeling light-headed. 

"No, more like activating an acute awareness." He said gently. "Now, try it again and tell me if you feel anything throwing you off balance. I know you haven't put that feeling into those words consciously, but you can't tell me the anchor hasn't drawn you towards something before." 

I thought back to the last rift we had closed in Redcliffe, how as I walked closer to it my stomach had felt queasy, but at the same time, the anchor had almost urged me to keep walking forward like some sort of soundless guide, surging until the rift was finally closed like an exhale. I felt intrigued by this new understanding, but also foolish for not paying attention to its messages. 

I closed my eyes and allowed the waves of mana to wash over me. I could feel a center shortly up ahead, as though there was a pressure point guiding the veil to concentrate in one particular area. No more than a kilometer away, something was tugging at my anchor. I couldn't let go of its calling, aware of its weight as though I was wearing an extra heavy chain that pulled down on me. 

"Do you sense it?" Solas asked, even if he already knew the answer. 

I nodded, looking down at my hand that was host to the anchor wondering again what other capabilities it had, feeling both an excitement that I had learned another one of its mysteries, but also a sense of foreboding.

What was this magic that came to live inside of me? 

How did Solas know so much about it? 

"Come," he said, walking up ahead. "Let's see what we find at the end of this trail."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ Next chapter will finish the measuring the veil quest.Much more action-packed.  
> \+ I'm quickly abandoning canon here a bit but wanted to give Nym a little bit more of a dynamic back story
> 
> \+ Think there are two ways of reading scene two: Solas is teaching Nym how to hone her magical skills OR he is using them to locate the artifact.
> 
> +Yep, Tor will make an appearance in later chapters.


	12. The Elvhen Artifact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Nym reach the Elvhen ruin and meet Mihris. Afterward, they have a frustrating conversation in which Solas bundles everything in only the way Solas can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: I've gone through and labeled all the chapters by location or quest. I'm not very adept at titles, so I thought this be a good way to organize this fanfic as time goes on.

**CHAPTER X**

As we drew closer to the artifact, Solas and I came upon an elf attentively poking through the weeds under a stone archway. She was picking up pebbles from the ground, turning them over in her palms, and chucking them over her shoulder. The traditional armor she wore, typically worn by a clan's Keeper, had a slightly too large fit. When I was close enough to make out her face, I recognized her. 

"Mihris?" I called out waving, " _Andaran atish'an"_

Her body jerked to full attention. Quickly, she jumped up, clutching her staff while scanning the area for any possible threat. As her eyes came to focus on the two of us, she relaxed, hastening over to join us cheerfully. 

_"Andaran attish'an_...Nym, is that you? I didn't think to find one of the People out this far." She sputtered in an uproarious tone throwing her arms out to pull me into a full embrace. "I heard you died in the Conclave!"

"No. I've...joined... "I muttered evasively, "Well, I've joined the Inquisition to stop the Breach." 

Mihris' face scrunched in annoyance. The hesitation in my voice had made her suspicious. We had met once a few years ago at the last gathering of the clans. It was evident as the Firsts played field games, that she was a competent mage. She had been warm to me, attempting to initiate a friendship, but I had been skeptical of her judgment given her boastful attitude and quickness to criticize others. I hoped she had matured in the time since we had last seen each other.

"What were you doing with the rocks?" I said in an attempt to distract her from my very living presence. 

"I read of an Elvhen artifact near here used to stabilize the veil. I thought it might be…" She trailed off. 

"Yes?" I replied encouragingly. 

"After seeing the brazier, I thought there was a riddle to unlock the door," Mihris admitted, "When you arrived, I was searching to see if any of the stones had a clue or glyph that might indicate the steps necessary." 

I glanced back at Solas, whose attention was but on the rubble. A brazier was at the center made of old cast iron. It had rusted to a pale green the color of a garden snake. Solas strolled forward gracefully, swaying like a branch in the air before waving his hand over the wall. I gasped in surprise when a line of glyphs illuminated around the edge of the door like an undulating wave. It was difficult to see in the high noon sun, but the brazier produced a strange teal flame that reminded me of light passing through stained glass. 

"Veilfire," he said succinctly and without any further explanations. 

Mihris turned her head quizzically. I realized she hadn't yet taken the time to greet him or acknowledge his presence. She was looking at him intently, her mouth drawn in a tight frown. She was displeased that an elf with a naked face had solved an Elvhen magical secret in a matter of a few minutes when she had struggled for hours. Thinking of his unornamented staff and non-descript appearance, I guessed that she might not have taken him for a mage either. 

"The flat-ear can handle himself," she whispered to me as Solas looked calmly at the remaining pile of debris obscuring the entrance. Before I could reprimand her, however, for using such an offensive term, he raised his hand again in one sweeping circular motion, casting a wordless spell that righted the stones to their original placement. I admired Solas as he cautiously peered down into the dark entrance as Mihris gasped, running up to the doorway impatiently before Solas grabbed her arm before she could get too far. 

"Wait," he commanded. "The veil is thin here, and curious spirits gather.." 

Mihris heeded his warning, stepping backward and stopping. Her expression was unhappy probably due to Solas' willingness to boss her around.. Knowing that she would not react well to any orders from a "flat-ear", I walked over calmly, cutting her off just as she began to open her mouth, her arms crossed, with a churlish look on her face. 

"It seems that we all have the same goal. Perhaps we can work together?" I offered. 

Mihris nodded, looking back and forth between Solas and I. Her brow furrowed in deep concentration. I knew she was uncertain why a Dalish First would be cavorting with an older _hahren_ in the Hinterlands.

"My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions," Solas said, bowing slightly to Mihris. A gesture she returned with a bemused expression. 

"Where do you come from to know such things as these? One of the circles?" 

"Solas is a member of the Inquisition. It was he who directed us to look for the artifact." I interrupted in an attempt to save the apostate from Mihris' increasingly awkward probing, 

"I see…" she said, "It is a pleasure to meet your acquaintance." 

"And yours _da'len_ " Solas said pointedly. 

I knew he didn't use the term as an endearment as he did for me. I couldn't suppress, however, the wave of jealousy that I felt when he used the title with Mihris. If he felt similarly about me as I did about him, what had he thought when he had found Dorian and me yesterday? 

\---

After making careful plans, with minimal disagreement, about what mage would cast which spell, the three of us walked down the stairs, slowly finding a few wisps immediately upon entering the ruin. The vibrant green reflection of their bodies glared eerily in the soft illumination of the veilfire. The fight was not long or complicated, but I cringed, hearing each clatter of ancestor skulls falling forgotten with every sharp slam of our staff. 

At the end of the battle, we found ourselves again facing an identical brazier to the one outside. 

"Come, Nym," Solas summoned me with a detached wave, "Try to pull the flame from the Fade. It does not need wood or oil to start, only willpower." 

I walked up to the brazier, turning my hand as I had seen Solas do beforehand, only to summon empty air. I sighed in disappointment. 

"Don't be discouraged, picture a flame, and think of its essence and your need for it," Solas instructed gently, "Not its cause." 

I closed my eyes tightly in concentration, trying not to picture a flame so much, as to recall its sense. As I drew upon my mana, the image evaporated from my mind and flowed outward. The shift in the atmosphere reminded me of the one I had felt earlier that afternoon when Solas had prompted me to read the shape of the veil. Whatever this unknown magic was, it was powerful. 

"Good," Solas congratulated me in an approving voice. 

I could feel a warm blush appearing upon my face. When I opened my eyes, admiring my success, I also saw Mihris staring at us both, again trying to piece together the mystery between the _hahren_ and me. She drew in a breath, but then exhaled quickly, appearing to think twice between making any comments on the subject. 

"Not many can summon veilfire this quickly," Solas admired as he touched a piece of salvaged wood to bring the flame with us as we made our way through the dark curving tunnel. When we walked farther in, I paused here and there to try and catch a look at the glimmering bits of metal that shined in the torch's reflection. Most of what I saw was dust, as even the skeleton's laid to rest in the crypts had rotted away.

Mihris took the opportunity to whisper in my ear.

"I was happy to see you. I've been wandering alone for some time." 

"What happened?" 

"When the rifts started to appear, my Keeper summoned a demon to keep us safe. It didn't work. I'm the only survivor, happenstance." 

"I'm sorry, Mihris," I said gravely, for although I didn't feel much warmth towards my peer, I didn't wish her any hardship. I could only imagine her grief judging from my homesickness. I felt lucky as even if I was far away from my clan, knowing that they were still alive brought me peace. 

"Thank you," she said, taking my hand in the dark and squeezing it affectionately. "I was looking for another clan to take me in, but I thought I'd help along the way wherever I could." 

Our conversation ended when we found the bottom of the staircase. Looking down from a stone balcony, I could make out several demons billowing through earthenware jugs. A few wraiths lumbered about nearby like Orlesian mimes. The blaze danced along the stone walls, some of which had caved in. Rich, iridescent mosaics covered the other walls. Squinting, I made out no scenes or landscapes, only intricate patterns that appeared to oscillate the more I stared. 

"There aren't too many," Mihris commented, "It won't take long to disperse them." 

"Look," I whispered while pointing to a large quartz, suspended in a circular metal frame placed at the center of the central altar. "That must be the artifact."

I looked at Solas from the corner of my eyes. He caught my gaze and nodded, confirming this was the case. Seeing his approval, I decided to take the lead, "Solas, you can cast a barrier from the balcony. Mihris, you and I will ambush the demons. Does this sound like a plan?" 

"Yes," both of my companions agreed in unison. 

Mihris and I went down two separate staircases that lined the side of the room. In the end, we peeked out at one another. I held up three fingers, then two, and then--when I dropped the last--we both jumped out of the shadows, resolutely swinging our staff. The alcove flashed with lightning and flame. I felt satisfied watching as I struck one wraith, and then the other. I could see them snap backward before evaporating in a volley of light. 

When our battle was over, I panted, leaning heavily on my staff from the excursion. I could feel Solas walking up behind me, for although the soft padding of his feet was barely audible on the tile floor, the torch he carried grew brighter and brighter on the wall. 

When I knew him to be next to me, I turned to him and announced, "If we activate that crystal, it should strengthen the veil, correct?" 

"Yes, _da'len"_ he nodded with a smile. 

Mihris hopped to the altar, peering down at the artifact. She reached out a hand to turn the crystal about, ostensibly to look for a switch or other feature that might unlock its purpose. When she found none, she called out, " _Hahren_ , do you know how to activate this?" 

Solas walked over, chuckled amiably, and then touched the torch to the surface. 

"You were right; it was a puzzle." He said as Mihris gasped. 

"I knew it!" She exclaimed. 

The three of us looked about the room for a bit. I followed Solas over through an open alcove. He brought the torch close to the wall and looked closely at the surface of the stone as if he were reading a book. I knew better than to distract him, and watched over his shoulder, waiting to see what he might reveal. 

"Ah," he breathed, and I could hear a noise that sounded like metal hitting together lightly in the wind. I could see writing erupt on the wall's identical to the glyphs outside.

"Touch them," he said to me, 

I did as I was told and was surprised when my mind felt as if it absorbed a sudden burst of knowledge. I felt as if I had read a palimpsest in one single sitting. The information flowed in multiple directions simultaneously. 

"What was it?" Solas asked curiously. 

"Instructions on how to make a frost rune," I said, gasping. "How did this happen?" 

"The veilfire was initially used as a type of writing. Only, like the Fade, the information isn't linear. It exists in layers. " Solas' voice was casual as if talking about something as commonplace as what one had for breakfast that morning. 

I didn't have long to process his words as in the background, and I could hear Mihris sorting through old forgotten corners. She was looking at all the ancient gems and gold that had spilled out, missing the real valuables in the tomb. "It seems the ancestors left something for me as well." She called out, holding up a long metallic rope.

"Solas?" I said, unsure if he saw any value in the item. Whatever it was, it could be helpful to the Inquisition, if not to understand more carefully what the Elvhen had done to stabilize the veil. 

" _Ma Halani. Ma Glandival. Vir Enasalin, da'len_ ," Solas said calmly. Mihris appeared surprised at his fluency, but nodded at his entreat. 

"You are right, take this, go with Mythal's blessing," she paused, perhaps feeling sour at having to give up the gems. "I suppose our alliance is over. I should be off. _Dareth Shiral."_

"Mihris," I called as she turned to leave. "Tor of the Dunes is wandering the Free Marches and should be there through winter. If you go to Wycome, ask in the alienage tavern, and they can get the word to him." 

"Clan Lavellan? Nym, that's…" 

"He needs a First," I called back sadly. "It will not be me. Go with Mythal's blessing. Go with _my_ blessing." 

" _Ma serranas,"_ she said, walking over to me to sweep me into a deep embrace. Its grip was genuine, and I smiled when I heard her whisper in my ear, "I won't forget this." 

I watched her skip up the stairs somberly, hoping she would one day appreciate what I had offered her. Solas waited a few moments before coming to stand next to me. I felt like crying, but resisted the impulse as I reminded myself that I had made peace long ago with the fact that I would not return home. 

"It will be good for the Clan to have a First again," I said with sorrow before I began to make my climb out of the tomb. Unlike Mihris, I felt no hurry to be out in the sunshine. 

\---

Solas appeared uneasy as we walked in the direction of the camp. On the way to the artifact, he had set a leisurely pace. Now, his frenetic gate had me panting to keep up. I was about to ask him to slow down when he turned to me, his sad look that had come and gone throughout the day looked back at me. 

"Shall we stop for lunch? You must be hungry." He asked. 

I nodded desperately as my stomach made a loud growl. 

We found a tree to sit underneath. Solas unwound an old blanket rolled on the top of his pack and laid it down in a patch of shade. I sat cross-legged, rummaging through my bag for the meal I had packed. Much to my delight, Solas did the same, unwrapping a crusty baguette that would go well with the cheese and dry salami that I had wrapped in a cotton napkin. Taking out my knife, I began to cut away at both item's wax seals as Solas carefully cut the bread into oblong slices. 

As soon as I could, I shoved a piece of bread loaded with meat and cheese into my mouth with great relish. Solas laughed, daintily arranging his bread slice so that his toppings evenly spread across every bite. When I demolished my portion, I was surprised when he pushed almost his entire meal towards me.

"Here, you're still hungry, and I am not." 

"No, I couldn't." 

"Please," he insisted, "I've had enough. Call it an old _hahren_ trick." 

Solas took one of his thick leather-bound notebook, putting up his hand to stop me from protesting further. "I need to write down some notes. Eat." He said while taking out a tin with various bits of graphite and pencils. He began to sharpen one with a knife and then began to write and sketch, his face furrowed in deep concentration. 

When I finish my second portion of bread, I realized how tired I was and laid down listening to the gentle sounds of the quiet farmland. It was so peaceful. For a few moments, I forgot about the Breach and the Inquisition. I closed my eyes and focused on the sound of Solas' pencil scratching on paper 

\---

Sometime later, I opened my eyes to find Solas still drawing and writing, seemingly oblivious to the world around him. Taking further advantage of the quiet, I took the amulet Mihris had found out of my pack to examine it. It was a long gold chain weaved with bits of raw black metal. Two interlocking hands formed a clever clasp that closed with interlocking fingers. It was sized as if to be worn over the shoulders like a livery collar. I held it up to the sun admiring the gleam, enchanted echoes of magic buzzed in my fingers.

"I think you should have this," I said to Solas, holding the necklace out to him. "You were the one that figured out how to open the ruin." 

"I don't think it will go with what I am wearing" he said playfully. 

"Really?" I said skeptically. I pursed my lips and looked at the amulet and then at Solas' outfit. If he was worried about it attracting attention, he could slip the charm between his top and bottom layer. 

"No, a jest," he said, looking amused at my scowl. 

"Here," I said, bridging the distance between us in a flash to slip the chain around his head. Solas stiffened at first, but then relaxed as I nudged the chain over his soulders. Searching his face for any further signs of protest, and finding none, I moved my hands underneath the top of his tunic to adjust the amulet, pausing to push aside the string of his strange jawbone necklace. When I finished, I looked at him directly in the eyes for the first time during this encounter, as if to dare him to scold me for my brazen behavior.

I knew that I had crossed a boundary.

When he made no sound of scolding me, I went to return to my side of the blanket when Solas gently put his hand on my arm and looked at me with his full attention. 

"With the mages secured, the best course of action is to stay focused on the Breach. A relationship could be messy." 

"Is that all?" I asked, unsure if that was what he was trying to say. 

I looked down on his hand, now gripping my arm lightly. I could quickly move away, but wanted to see what his next action would be. I was disappointed when it was not to draw me in for a kiss, something I thought possible from the electric flash from his gray-blue eyes, but when he released his gentle grasp on my arm, he looked at me sadly once again. 

"I don't mean to push you away, Nym." He said unexpectedly.

"Be kind to me," I said, even more forcefully, echoing the statement he had made so many months ago in my cabin. 

Solas' eyes flashed, recognizing the warning. Instead of responding directly, he changed the subject. "Come, the hour is growing late let's go back to camp." 

I nodded and packed up my things without another word.

\--- 

By the time we returned to camp, it was nearly nightfall. Agents scurried about from place-to-place to light lanterns and packed crates and barrels into wagons. Although a handful of soldiers would stay to keep watch on the area, a dozen or so soldiers would ride with us back to Haven with the supplies. Those who had finished their shifts for the day gathered around a few campfires with bottles of ale, laughing with one another over the evening.

Cassandra’s unrelenting frown greeted the moment of our return. "It has been a long day," she said dryly, combing her fingers through her short hair in frustration. 

Dorian burst out of the tent we have been sharing with a grin. Cassandra glared at him, and he didn’t, or at least pretended not to notice. It took all my discipline not to snicker at the two of them, for although I know, Cassandra presents any annoyance she has as agony, she is better humored then most would guess. 

Quickly, Dorian hugged me, while rapidly demanding, "What did you find? Show me! Tell me!" 

Cassandra looked at me sharply whispering, "A very long day!" as she stomped back to the fire. 

I laughed, and hugged Dorian around his waist tightly before stepping back. To our surprise, Solas walked over, reaching out a hand to grasp Dorian's arm in a friendly greeting. 

"I can show you if you like?" Solas offered in a kind voice, plopping down his pack and taking out his worn leather volume. For the rest of the evening, I watched as the two of them sit at the fire late into the night, paying no attention to Cassandra and I. The conversation was animated. The two mages delighted in exchanging theories on how the Elvhen artifact works, even going as far as to open one of Dorian's wine bottles. 

\---

In the middle of the night, Dorian nudged me awake, whispering in my ear. "Tell me, did you do it? Did he finally confess his undying love to you?" Annoyed, I hit him in the face with my pillow, refusing to comment on the subject until we reached Haven, _at least._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ I just thought that perhaps if the Inquisitor was Dalish she might know Mihris. Obvi. the two would make for good rivals as I don't think the two were very much alike in the game. 
> 
> \+ Solas and Nym haven't resolved much, but at least they are speaking. Expect more hot & cold as time goes on. 
> 
> +I'm going to diverge from canon in the next few chapters. Going to spend, oddly, more time in Haven as the mages arrive to seal the Breach.


	13. Vivienne Attacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group returns to Haven, Vivienne is angry, Nym is assertive, Solas walks her home.

**CHAPTER XI**

The moment the gates opened at Haven, my life returned to a frenzied pace. Our furlough near Lake Luthias hadn't been relaxing, but I instantly missed my nights sleeping under evergreen trees. The roaring from the tavern. The scent of meat roasting, and the jostling of the crowd--all of it overwhelmed me. 

In the time since the Inquisition began, the sleepy hamlet had transformed into a bustling city. I no longer recognized every face I passed. Dwarves congregated in merchant stalls as masked Orlesians weaved in and out of Inquisition spy agents who were moving huge supply shipments of food and weapons. What started as a small movement was now a formidable rebellion with the resources to shake the world. 

And yet, as soon as I returned, I couldn't help but recognize that there was still no central leader to guide our mission to seal the Breach. With no one in charge and the Council greatly divided on the best way possible to accomplish, well _anything,_ I felt that with no one accountable for the organization's success, we carried on as an amorphous entity that only grabbed at any opportunities with no strategy.

That would prove to be a grave error. 

\---

I walked up the stairway towards the Chantry to give my report. Cassandra, Solas, and Dorian followed. Before we had left Redcliffe, we had scribbled down a few pithy updates For Leliana. Worried that our messages might be intercepted, especially by the mysterious "Elder One," we had left out many of the details. Now that we were back, it was time to plan for what came next. 

Along our route, a group of soldiers called out to Cassandra. One of them, a short bronze-skinned woman with a shaved head, had the Seeker's sigil on her breastplate waved for her to join them. 

"Go," I reassured her when she looked at me, "We'll be fine." 

On our walk back that morning, she had spoken with me at length about how worried she was about the missing Seeker of Truth order and Lucius' influence. It didn't take much encouragement for her to run over to the group. I hoped she'd find news. 

A short time later, a tall apprentice mage with a roguish grin whistled at Dorian, who came to a complete halt and hooted back. 

"Careful," Dorian said, making a tsk sound, "You address a Tevinter mage!" 

I rolled my eyes as Solas chuckled under his breath. 

"Go buy the man a drink," I whispered heatedly, " _Please,_ before we have another diplomatic crisis on our hands!"

We were only a few steps from the Chantry, and I was about to turn to Solas to say he didn't need to attend what was sure to be a seemingly endless meeting when I was interrupted by a loud huff. I turned to see what, or who, had made the noise. 

It was Vivienne. 

I thought for a moment to apologize for almost barreling straight into her in my haste to enter the Chantry, but I immediately stopped when I saw her face. At first glance, her expression appeared neutral, but for the slight upward curl of her lip. She was angry. Flashes of mana pulsated in the air like tiny hot pinpricks of static. I looked at her poised hands folded perfectly in front of her, so as not to ruffle the resplendent snow-white robes that billowed about her like a snowstorm. No, Vivienne wasn't just angry, she was _livid._

It was a trap. She had been lying in wait for me to return like a wyvern. 

"What were you thinking?" Vivienne demanded. 

I winced as for a moment as even though her tone was even the subtle edge in her inflection made me feel as if she was holding a razor-sharp knife to my throat.

Truthfully, it would have been less frightening if she had roared. 

I resolved not to let her intimidate me.

"Lady Vivienne..." I said, standing on my toes to try and match her full height. 

"Ally with the mages? Darling, chaos will break out _everywhere."_ She snipped. 

A crowd had started to gather around us. I looked behind Vivienne and noticed the eyes of a mage with chestnut hair looking at us. She whispered to a squat young woman wearing Templar armor standing next to her. I'd seen them before; hands clasped tenderly together at the Singing Maiden. Varric had told me they planned to marry as soon the Breach was sealed. Seeing the couple only served to inflame my anger at Vivienne, because, in her judgment, such a relationship would be considered fraternization. Despite the privileged exemptions, her lifestyle was afforded, many fundamental liberties were denied to the circle mages.

It was unjust. Completely unjust. 

"It's not right," I said heatedly. 'It's not right to imprison those with magical abilities." 

"Imprisonment _?_ What an ugly word?" Vivienne sniffed. The air thickened with mana. Mine began to roll off my skin forcefully in thick torrents. Vivienne's had grown molten hot. I could see some of the mages in the crowd begin to shift as they picked up the energy cascading between us nervously. 

Still, I did not feel inclined to back down. 

"Words? Try an ugly truth, Vivienne. The circles _will not_ be remade, and the Inquisition _will not force_ the mages into servitude!" 

I could see her blanch a bit when a few claps echo out amid the crowd. She had not expected that. 

"Did you put this idea in her head, apostate?" She said, turning to Solas. 

Solas looked placid, but I had spent enough time with him to notice how his jaw clenched whenever he was displeased. He was practically gnashing his teeth. 

"You give Nym too little credit, Lady Vivienne." 

I couldn't help but lose my temper even further. _Did Vivienne think I needed Solas to tell me what to do? Or anyone?_

"Such arrogance, Vivienne," I growled, "You live amid luxury and ask others to starve. That isn't leadership! That isn't control! You are a _tyrant_." 

The claps in the crowd grew in increased intensity.

I could tell I'd hit a nerve, Vivienne's control began to slip, and her face twisted in vexation. I sensed a crackling in the atmosphere. Vivienne was pooling her mana as if she was about to cast an elemental spell. Only to slough off the top layer of power as if to scrape off the frothy head of an ale pint, releasing a small flood of energy without shape or purpose. I realized she wanted me to feel as if she might erupt at any moment. 

"Are you threatening me?" I asked with an astonished gasp. 

She is about to respond when I heard the crowd parting and Leliana ask in her thick Orlesian accent: "What is going on here?" 

"We were just having a little conversation, darling. Mage-to-mage as it were. 

"I see," Leliana said, looking between the three of us skeptically. "The Herald is needed by the Council. Perhaps you can resume this conversation later?" 

I sighed in relief. 

Vivienne nodded and released her mana in one palpable burst that echoed uncomfortably to those magic-sensitive individuals in the crowd, several of whom clutched their heads as if they had migraines. 

As the crowd began to walk off, Vivienne gave me one final harsh look and then gathered her robes around her like a bird would wet plumage. 

I didn't see her for the rest of the summer. 

\---

"That was certainly something, Herald," Leliana whispered as we walked through the nave of the Chantry. "I should have thought to find her before you arrived. She hasn't been happy." 

"No, I expect not," I responded glumly. Even if I didn't agree with Vivienne, I didn't want to treat her cruelly. I valued her experience and magical knowledge. There were reasons she was, and still is, one of the great mistresses of the Orlesian games. 

"Her entire life has been threatened. It will take time, but she'll calm down.," Leliana reassured me, "In the meantime, we have much to discuss about what you found in Redcliffe." 

\---

The Council met for hours questioning every moment of the dark future that never was. _Am I sure it was time-travel? Is Empress Celine the target? How did the Elder one conjure a demon army?_ I repeated the story in great detail, at least a dozen times before I slumped down in my chair and started to nod off. 

Throughout the evening, all but Vivienne joined for the discussion. Cullen exhaustedly stood over the war table. His arms stretched dolefully over a map of Thedas as he muttered about troop movement with Blackwall. Leliana and Cassandra whispered in the corner about Chantry politics while Josephine looked over a supply ledger with Iron Bull. Dorian, who had joined a few hours after we arrived with a devilish grin, passed out in a chair in the corner, snoring loudly. Varric, also sleeping, clutches his crossbow Bianca, in his arms. Sera had come and gone, interrupting with odd, but heartfelt, monologues about the Red Jennys and their readiness to offer aid. 

Shortly before dawn, I felt a hand touch my shoulder. It was Solas. He had not talked for much of the evening, only offering his opinion when prompted directly. I expect to find his pale eyes weary, but instead, they sparkled at me. 

"It is time for sleep, da'len _,"_ he said gently. I look around the room once more, and nod. Several of the others saw me rise and realized the late hour for the first time. 

"Maker's Breath," Cullen muttered as he gathered up the maps. "There isn't enough time in the day." Leliana stands next to him, patting him on the back reassuringly. He began to roll up his papers, taking his hand to push off all the wargame miniatures into a large tin box. Blackwall walked over to Varric and Dorian to rouse them as Josephine snuffed out the candles. 

"Good night," I say to the others. It's all I could manage to do in my tired state. Despite not imbibing any alcohol for the last few days, my body felt as if I had too much to drink, my head was so exhausted. I had gone almost an entire day with no sleep. 

A few of the companions nodded, but I rushed to open the door. 

I stumbled through the dark center of the Chantry, leaning heavily on my staff when Solas walked up next to me. His face was a mix of concern and amusement, as if he thought I might collapse at any moment. I was surprised to find him so alert and energetic. I knew he didn't sleep very much, but I could barely stand. 

"It was good of you to challenge Vivienne," He offered while opening the door for me. 

"Thank you," I responded succinctly. Finding words to respond was difficult. _Creators, I needed sleep._

We exited the giant building and paused at the crossroads between our cottages. There was no moon that night, but the stars were brilliant and appeared to flicker over the lake. The whole town was silent, and even if some of the workers were to wake shortly to begin a day of baking, or loading supply wagons, or other such chores, they would not yet rise for at least another hour. It was as if the entire town is populated only by Solas and me. 

We stood there frozen for a few more minutes until Solas asked quietly, "May I walk you home?" 

I nodded, too tired again to wonder at his motivations. I was surprised when he walked side-by-side with me and continued the conversation: "It's unnerving to think I've died in another world." 

"It is a shame that Solas died," I said sarcastically. The hour was too late for a philosophical discussion. I expected him to be annoyed, but instead, he brought his hand to his lips as he often did when intrigued. 

"Oh, I appreciate your heartfelt condolences," Solas responded in a playful voice. 

"That future made you into a different person. A _very_ different person." 

"Oh?" 

"Yes," I continued dryly, "For instance, you were much more willing to admit when you were a fool." 

"That wasn't in your report. You'll have to tell me what I was a fool about, da'len _."_

_Was he flirting with me?_

We had arrived at my doorstep, and I had, by instinct, taken out the key off my belt to open the door. It had been nearly a month since I had seen the inside of my room, and I couldn't remember what sort of state I had left it in. _Why did I care what the state my room was?_

I looked back at Solas to say good night. Somehow, the dark amplified his milky skin, and he had an ethereal glow that made him appear otherworldly. He looked at me much more intensely than usual. _Did he want to join me?_

I didn't have to answer the question as I heard what sounded like a squawk a few feet away. It was Dorian struggling under the weight of his most giant pack. 

" _Fasta vass_ ," he cursed in Tevene, "I woke up, and no was there." 

I put my hand to my forehead. "I'm _so_ sorry Dorian, I forgot that you were sleeping." 

"Well, you see, the problem is I don't have quarters assigned yet." He looked from Solas to me eagerly, and then his face turned to worry. "I mean, I didn't…" 

"Solas was escorting me home," I said tensely, "You aren't interrupting." 

"Can I stay with you for the night?" He asked desperately. I looked around the town. It wasn't that I minded the rumors that I was already sure were circulating about the Tevinter mage and me, but I didn't think it was best practice to lean into the situation. 

"Well…" I began awkwardly. 

"Come Mage of Tevinter," Solas said thoughtfully, clapping Dorian on the back. "You may sleep at my place, for I have an extra bed." 

Dorian yipped enthusiastically, and the two of them turned to leave. 

Solas looked back at me for one last lingering moment before he murmured, " _On Nydha, da'len."_

I waved quietly, mouthing back " _On Nydha,"_ as Dorian began to spew questions at Solas about his cottage and what his fellow mage might do in the Fade as soon as they returned. " _Will you talk with spirits?" "Can I meet the spirits?"_

I closed the door behind me, with a thud and collapsed fully dressed, face-first into the bed. I ran my hands through the velvety threads of the Dalish blanket. Its enhanced touch warmed my fingers. 

_Cullen was right. There was simply not enough time in the day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you if you are still reading! I have the next two chapters mostly wrapped up and will post those shortly. Lots more plot an action (and an assassination attempt?)


	14. A Dismal Night in the Singing Maiden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nym gets back to business in Haven, Solas flirts with her, & Varric throws a party (what could go wrong).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Allusions to torture and suicide.

**CHAPTER XII**

Many mages will tell you that magic is thrilling to practice, but the mechanics are dull. 

The summer before we sealed the Breach, I learned this axiom to be true beyond reproach. 

Each day I woke at dawn to hurriedly gulp down breakfast. After this, I went to meetings that dragged on for ten or twelve-hour stretches without a break. _How much lyrium will we need? Where would we find it? Has anyone thought of reaching out to Orzammar?_ As the drudgery went on, I found it harder to concentrate. That, and none of the enchanters and council members come to any informal agreements. All of their bluster annoyed me. I wanted to jump right in and have it done with. Only, in their estimable opinion, there were never enough mages, nor supplies to focus the level of power necessary. 

So, I had to wait. 

It made me restless. 

It brought me some small comfort to know that our mission's success was all but guaranteed as more mages arrived in Haven from all over Ferelden and Orlais. Apostates, some of whom have been on the run for years, flocked to the Inquisition banner. One late evening, in the Singing Maiden, I was brought to near tears watching two old haggard men embrace. They had been former childhood friends in the Circle, and when they recognized each other, burst into deep sobs. The two were separated for decades, after an escape attempt, one fled into the wilderness with his phylactery, while the other was run down and captured by the Templars. "I'm _so sorry they caught you,"_ one man cried into the other's shoulder. " _I tried to go back...I tried."_

\---

And yet amidst all this activity, there were still no concrete answers about who the Elder One was. Despite Leliana's best efforts, the Inquisition had gathered no tangible evidence about what the shadowy entity wanted or where they might be. 

It worried me. 

When the Inquisitions spy network managed to capture a few Venatori, Leliana and I spent an afternoon together in the dungeon so that she could interrogate one of the agents. She hung him upside down for hours, but despite any prodding or threats, he recited the same slogan in a sing-song voice: " _Oh mighty Dumont, Oh mighty Dumont."_

Leliana went as far as to take out a satchel of knives and razors. When I saw her unroll the package, a wave of nausea hit me, and the image of her maimed and discolored face in the Redcliffe-that-never-was flashed before my eyes. 

"Please don't," I implored, putting my hand on her arm. "There has to be another way." 

"He doesn't deserve your mercy, Herald," she protested with her hands raised. 

"Then do it for Andraste," I said gravely. "For surely, isn't the lesson of the Chantry?" 

I could tell from her contemplative expression that she was surprised to hear me invoke the name of her deity. Only, instead of asking me why I would say such a thing, she put away her implements wordlessly, returning to stand over her prisoner to repeat her list of questions. _Who is the Elder One? What do you want?_

A week later, the man was found dead in his cell by his hand after gagging himself on his bedsheets. 

\---

Fiona arrived in Haven shortly after my return. The two of us begin to guide the mages in our plans. Most of the time, we are joined by a group of senior enchanters who debated the theoretical implications of the anchor. Once Fiona helped lead the cause, the plans quickened, and she, along with Solas, estimated that the Inquisition would have enough supplies and bodies by mid-autumn. Until then, we had the opportunity to discuss, in their words, the "optimal applications" to "maximize the potential of the anchor." 

On one such occasion, the mages asked me to wake the anchor so they might examine its capabilities. I did it gladly in the hope that one of them might have an answer as to its origin. A few of them gasped when they saw it in action. One woman with two long braids that stretched down the length of her back cursed " _Maker’s Breath."_

One elderly elven enchanter in heavily-embroidered crimson robes dawdled over to me with outreached fingers. His cloudy eyes framed by two bushy eyebrows looked up at me when he spoke at the volume of a whisper: "I am one of the only known scholars of the Fade, may I?"

"Yes, of course." I stretched out my arm and prompted the anchor to flicker its eerie emerald hue.

He recited an incantation, a mixture of Tevene and Elvhen, and put his fingers to the anchor's surface, only to instantaneously withdraw them with a yelp. I could see painful blisters erupting over the surface of his palm. 

"Wherever this came from, it is old magic." He said in a reverent voice, "I have never encountered the like before, not even in dreams. I might not know where it comes from, but I can tell you there is something primal and dangerous undulating under its surface. You should be careful, child, for it will not do you well to be a host for such a thing for much longer." 

"Does it hurt you?" Another older woman in the white robes of a Grand Enchantress solemnly asked as she waved a healing spell over her colleagues' burns. 

"Sometimes," I shrugged, "I have grown used to it." 

A heated debate ensued without my input or consideration. 

I remember looking down at the anchor for the first time there to wonder: _Can this kill me?_

\---

At first, I struggled to keep up with all the theoretical terms the enchanters used. With Fiona's guidance, this happened less and less, and I was pleased to understand the nuance of their discussions. In the few hours I could steal away in my cabin at night, I devoured each magical treatise Fiona leaned me.

Despite what many Circle educated mages will have you believe, much of the herblore is the same, as are the forms necessary for casting. Usually, there is a Dalish parallel for a magical concept, especially the farther back you went into the historical canon. 

My spells grew more potent as I began to practice a hybrid of both ways. 

\---

I could not have forgotten what had passed between Solas and I at Lake Luthias if I tried. Returning to Haven brought me new frustrations, as I was disappointed to find the tiny town afforded us no privacy to continue exploring the attraction between us. Every conversation I attempted to have with him was interrupted. Varric would stroll by asking if we would join him for a game of Wicked Grace. Blackwall discovered a fellow artist in Solas, and sometimes in the evening, both sat outside of Solas' cabin, one sketching and the other carving, in silence. 

It was maddening to find Blackwall there night after night without a ready reason to dismiss him. 

Self-conscious of the others noticing all of our comings and goings, I made up excuses to stop by Solas' cabin. Sometimes, I went to Adan's cottage to make a new batch of potions, even if I was fully stocked. All of the companions received extra potions in quick succession. 

Other times, I took the "long way around" to visit the Singing Maiden with Dorian, who always indulged me. 

No matter what or when I tried, there was always an audience. 

Given the time that elapsed, I expected Solas to lose interest. Only, he didn't retreat. Instead, I caught him giving me lingering looks when he thought no one else would see. Each time I noticed the gaze of his pale eyes with my own, I thought of two sapphires, or some other silly thing. Without fail, his attention made me blush, and he looked amused at my shyness. 

One evening at dinner, he slipped me a tattered book titled _Elvhen Songs and Poetry From the Ancient Dales._

"Open it later, there is a passage I think you'll like, da'len _,"_ he whispered. 

Before I could thank him, he'd already disappeared in the darkened hall. 

Later that evening, I cracked open the spine of the threadbare tome with great relish. The forward was dull, and I skimmed through it. Eventually, I found a green slip of paper marking a page in the book's middle, and I was delighted to find an ancient elvhen song translated into Common. Each page was split into two so that the reader could dart back and forth between the two languages with ease.

I felt the blood rise to my face when I found that Solas had marked a love poem, each lyrical stanza related to a different time of day. I could see faint pencil lines underlining the morning section. I read in Elvhen, my name Nym, and quickly looked at the notes to figure out the rest. According to the author, the lines roughly declared: "I want to rouse my lover/as the quail sings/under the unruly sun/ I will twine my fingers in her hair/ as we match its song." 

I was so overcome by the implications that I immediately slammed the book shut with a thud. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't work up the courage to bring up the passage to read again.

\---

At the start of high summer, Varric stopped by my cabin to invite me to a party he is hosting to celebrate one of his successful, yet in all likelihood disreputable, trade deals with the Dwarven Merchant's Guild. Incapable of holding onto any wealth for himself, Varric mostly gives his gold away to those in need. Other times, he liked to do something frivolous to boost morale. 

"Listen," he said while I leaned casually on the doorframe to listen "I'm hosting this shindig at the Singing Maiden for a few of my business associates. Do you think you could come? I know it would be good for business." 

"I'd love to, Varric." 

"Excellent, bring Sparkles, he seems like someone who knows how to have a good time." 

\---

The evening of the party, Dorian stopped by my cabin a few hours earlier than necessary. I know from several of our long evening walks conversations how much he missed Minrathous. Sometimes, over a glass of wine, he'd recount his nights at the elaborate open-air theater constructed of hundreds of incised rock steps Other times, he'd describe the Grand Proving Arena, an architectural marvel of terraced gardens called the "green jewel at the center of the stone city." 

I understood that this party was an excuse for Dorian to forget about home if only for an evening. I knew he's been dying to go to a party, _any party,_ mostly as he hasn't been to one in months. He didn't complain, but I could tell he was bored about the lack of festivity other than a few cups of watery ale available in Haven. 

I laid on my bed, reading a book on alchemy formulas trying my best to ignore the loud crashes coming from the other room. Dorian was going through my trunk and tossing each clothing item on the floor. It was a weekly exercise for him when we lived near one another.

"I hope you realize that you will be picking up any mess you make," I said, not bothering to look away from my reading. 

Dorian sighed dramatically, collected each article of clothing, and threw it in a central pile on my bedroom floor. 

"You will fold those items and put them back where you found them," I said with as much authority as I could muster without laughing. 

"Ever since you and Vivienne have had it out, you think you are the boss!" He sniped. 

"Will you be more compliant if I say please?" I joked in a caustic voice. 

"What you need to say please is for me to help you pick out an outfit that isn't sorry." 

I put my book down and looked at Dorian. He was wearing his usual attire, tan mage armor with a type of scarf that layered around the front. The impractically slashed sleeves fashioned to reveal as much of his toned arms as possible without falling off. 

"You're wearing...your usual...almost shirt" I commented dryly. 

"I brought my party clothes to change into." He replied, putting his hands on his hips. "It's a party. Everyone knows you don't change into one's final look until immediately before departure." 

"I don't think I've ever been to a party like this one," I say absently. 

"No? How is that possible?" 

"I mean the Dalish have feasts and large gatherings. Weddings, I've been to those. There is dancing and sometimes bradh, but I'm going to guess that it's a lot more rustic than what Varric has planned." 

"Then we have to work on your outfit. What will you do if a certain apostate is there?" Dorian asked

I knew Dorian treasured our friendship as he didn't often tease me about Solas. Nor did he share my secret with anyone else. Not even Josephine, who he told lurid tales of his conquests to in great detail. As far as I knew, he was the only one who had observed anything between us. 

I flopped down on the bed with a deep exhale as it wasn't an idea I had considered before. I wanted to look pretty.

I sat up and looked at Dorian a little desperately. "Ok, could you _please_ help me pick something out?" 

Dorian laughs sweetly, "I thought you'd never ask." 

\---

A few hours later, we walked the short way over to the Singing Maiden. I looked down with satisfaction at my outfit. Dorian had transformed several of my everyday items into elegant attire. I wore my favorite gauzy pants that stopped just above the ankle, and a wrap top made from royale sea silk that buttoned down the front. The fit was slightly baggy, but with Dorian's expert attention, the fabric was pinned and tucked to cling to all my curves, the neckline an inch lower than it probably should have been. 

Dorian was in all black silk topped with a plaid weave gold vest. He even brought along an Orlesian mask that he claimed complimented the whole look. 

Upon arrival, a barmaid ushered us to the second floor of the tavern, which Varric has spared no expense to have cleaned and decked out with enough food and drink for the entire town. He'd imported several cases of champagne and fine wines, and there were at least a dozen barrels of ale ready to be opened. On a table, to the side of the room, were cuts of smoked meat and cheese, along with strawberries and cream and dried oranges dipped in sugar. Whole baskets of crusty baguettes, some with olives and herbs mixed in, were cut into tiny bite-sized pieces. 

I couldn't resist and walked over to shove a strawberry into my mouth. I turned, only to find that Dorian had abandoned me for a small gathering of handsome mages who circled him adoringly. He postured for them, his rousing voice rose above the music. 

I looked around the room, hoping to find a group to stand awkwardly among. Blackwall and Sera were engaged in a rowdy drinking game, rolling dice and cheering whenever someone is lucky enough to have to chug down an entire pint of drink. Josephine was talking to an Orlesian merchant seductively batting her eyes over a painted fan. She's wearing a white gown that slips off her shoulder, demurely. Cassandra sulked in the corner. She was trying to unobtrusively read a book, perhaps to appear productive, but I still like to think she secretly enjoys such events. 

I thought to walk over and introduce myself when I noticed Solas standing close-by. 

I attempted to saunter over to him, but found my step to be a little more clumsy than I'd like to admit. 

" _Hahren,"_ I greeted him. He turned to look at me with a smile that made my heart palpitate, and I felt the room grow warmer. Solas was dressed a little more festively than usual in smart black pants; his strange jawbone necklace flashed out on his chest in high contrast to the plain white jacket he wore. I thought him, despite the humble attire, to look regal. 

_"Da'len,"_ he replied, his face once again somber. 

" _Anath Ara,"_ I countered uneasily. 

"Are we to exchange greetings all night?" His face was severe, but I could tell by the way his lips twitched, he was fighting the urge to smile again. 

"I didn't think to see you here," I touched a hand to my flushed cheeks. The room felt suddenly very hot.

"Varric insisted. Who am I to refuse? He said he'd order frilly cakes just for me." 

"The book you gave me," I stuttered, "I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed the poem." 

I could see his eyes flash with pleasure before sadness flooded his face once again.

"Everyone should know the value of their name," he said distantly. "That poem, I understand, is considered a classic at the University of Orlais." 

I couldn't help but feel a little crestfallen at how academic his tone was. _Perhaps he wasn't suggesting anything by giving me that book._

He raised an eyebrow at me as if to challenge to press the matter further, and I reached for another strawberry, grateful for my hands to have a task to save them from fumbling. 

"Your hair," Solas said with a sudden realization. "You've changed it." 

I looked at him quizzically and put my hand up to touch the loose strands. Usually, I kept it pinned up in elaborate braids, but thanks to Dorian's urging, I had worn it down. It fell in soft waves below my shoulders. I hadn't even bothered to try and tame it with a comb. 

I had forgotten. 

"It's rather wild, actually," He remarked fondly. 

I struggled to find something to say, but all my words had seemingly evaporated. I was captivated watching Solas reach into one of the many lush bouquets of the table and pluck from it a bright red flower that he boldly tucked behind my ear. 

"Forgive this _hahren_ for their rudeness, but I couldn't resist." he chuckled, "Although I wouldn't tell Dorian it was my idea, or he'll instantly think it gauche." 

I laughed at his joke, reaching up to gently finger the petals. 

A lively jig began to play in the background, and the dancing started in earnest. Sera threw down her dice and skipped to the floor dragging Blackwall along with her. Soon, dance partners took to twirling about together. I was about to ask Solas if he'd like to join me when I felt two hands around my waist. It's a younger soldier with a scar down their cheek who grabbed me without restraint. He spun me around effortlessly, and I tried to match the intricate steps as best I can as we weaved in and out of the other revelers. When the song finished, I looked for Solas only to see him resting against the wall with a wry look on his face. 

I was interrupted trying to ask him to dance once again by Cullen, who bashfully offered me his hand, which I only accepted when I saw Solas wave to me as if to urge me on. For the next few hours, I danced until I was near exhausted, aware at intervals that two pale blue eyes followed me as I moved about the room. With each new partner, I couldn't help but want the hands that were touching mine to be someone else's, but as the night went on, there was never an opportunity to pause and find him. 

\---

A few hours later, I sat down in one of the chairs lining the room next to Varric and Iron Bull. They were chatting about the sword fighting scenes in Varric's latest publication, when the Dwarf took a new bottle out of a wooden box. The top of the cork was covered in thin silver-pressed foil, and on the label, there was a hand-painted scene with a long serpent-like dragon. 

"Herald," Varric slurred, "I have something special I want you to try! It's a gift from a _Hard in Hightown_ fan in Antiva! You can taste the sunshine from the vineyards, with a sweet aftertaste of dark currents and raspberries! Pretty good for fermented fruit juice." 

He handed me the bottle so I could admire the illustration more. I was in awe at how beautiful such a commonplace thing could be. 

"What about the dragons?" Iron Bull interrupted. "I want to hear about the Dragons!" He glugged deeply from a giant horn of ale, and a line of foam-lined his upper lip. 

"Well, what I was told is that the vine is cultivated from an old dragon burial ground. It gives it a unique body. Stuff was all the rage a few years ago, but you can't find it anymore." 

Varric unscrewed the top of the bottle with some struggle and grabbed three empty wine glasses from a nearby tray. I could hear the lapping of the liquid hitting the glass as he poured Bull and me each generous helpings to try. 

"To Varric," I burst happily, standing to raise my glass to clink with the others. 

I put my lips to the edge of the glass. The aroma was fragrant, but underneath the familiar scent lurked something sour that reminded me of an apothecary jar. After tasting a small mouthful, I tried to suppress my look of disgust as the taste was too pungent for my liking. I was about to put my beverage down and to try and come up with an excuse not to drink anymore when I felt the glass smashed out of my hands by a fast-moving Iron Bull. 

"It's poisoned," he bellowed. 

I looked at the broken glass and the red liquid on the wall and then heard a nearby crack on the hardwood floors. It was Varric writhing on the ground. His eyes rolled back to his head.

I took a few steps forward. Suddenly, a white jolt of pain hit my chest, and my sinuses burned. I put my hand up to my nose and pulled it away to see a few droplets of blood. I thought to look upwards at the room again but realized that I had already fallen to the floor. My body jerked beyond control. As my hands lashed about, I could feel the wetness from the spilled drink.

I fought to stay conscious, but a single droplet of the drink made my vision go black. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ OK, we are almost out of Haven, I swear! (2 more chapters).
> 
> \+ basically tried to come up with the nerdiest most ambiguous way for Solas to flirt because he’s an incredibly frustrating egg
> 
> +I picture the dancing to be a bit, Jane Austen, in feel: lots of weaving, clapping, and twirling. Orlais is for waltzing, taverns are for step-dancing.
> 
> \+ the poisoner is noooot Vivienne (who I promise I love and will have a redemptive arc in this fanfic because my Inquisitor loves all her friends and is slightly too agreeable).


	15. An Arrival and a Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nym is lost in the Fade. She recovers only to think that perhaps Solas might be leaving forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone that is still reading. I haven't written fiction before, so it took me a few rounds of in-depth editing to get the first chapters up to satisfaction. I think I've figured out a few of the mechanics of the voice, so future edits shouldn't be as drastic.

**CHAPTER XIII**

_A thick blanket of mist surrounds me. It is pure to the touch like fresh snow. A few steps forward, and I make out a few blue-green shapes materializing a horizon line. I attempt to run towards it to see if I can escape this strange atmosphere, only the line flickers and dissolves. The fog threatens to engulf me._

_I ask myself: how long have I been here? I can only recall the last few minutes._

_The world was pitch-black._

_Then it wasn't._

_My intuition says I've been here longer. Days. Maybe years?_

_I claw at the mist to see if I can force it to disperse. The weightless mass doesn't move. It stays constant like a heartbeat. As my panic starts to set in bright jade-colored outlines appear in the clouds. At first, all I see is abstract waves. Over time, I begin to see the leap of a halla or the swaying of a honeysuckle bush. Aravells follow. When I blink, the air circulates as if I'm In the center of a meadow. It feels familiar, like my childhood. Only it isn't._

_What is this place? Where am I?_

_"Da'len," the deep timbre of Solas' voice calls out to me._

_Is he here too?_

_I twirl in a circle searching for him, but Solas is nowhere to be found._

_"Hahren," I yell out weakly. I don't believe my voice can be heard over the moth-white cloud._

_I begin to walk forward again. It's exhausting. My feet are bare, and the ground, as far as I can tell, is made out of the same inexplicable material as the mist. I think to describe it as firm, but when I push the balls of my feet down, it gives a bit. I glance down at myself for the first time. I am relieved that I still have a body. Did I have one before?_

_Something rubs uncomfortably at my skin. I look down at my attire for the first time. I'm wearing mage armor fashioned out of ivory satin and leather. It's cut to fit me perfectly. I've never worn something so fine. The breastplate, embossed with the Inquisition's signet, is fashioned out of a black metal so dark it appears blue like a bruise. I hold up my arms again, and I am caked in blood, gallons of wet and slippery blood._

_I begin to scream, and no sound comes out._

_There is a fizzing sensation in my hand—the anchor bellows in tune with me._

_I think to use it; its pull is stronger and stronger._

_\---_

_Wait, wasn't I hunting for Solas?_

_"Nym," I hear his call again. I can sense the vibrations of his step, but I don't see him. The contours around me shift into a darker, ominous cloud. An ashen wolf is visible lurking amongst the field. It stalks something dangerous and low, but when it jumps to strike, it dissipates._

_"Solas?" I frantically shout._

_The mass of swirling white makes it difficult to focus._

_"Stop fighting," Solas murmurs to me. "Use your willpower to conjure what you most want, and it will appear."_

_I want him._

_I reach out into the ether, my hands are spotless and washed clean of blood._

_"Concentrate!" Solas says. His tone is still quiet, but the words echo in my ears._

_I begin to picture Solas standing in front of me and that we are at Lake Luthias again. The air begins to thicken into tangible forms. Things I can touch. It is the Lake; only it is the essence of a lake: only the water and shoreline. There are no trees. When I look up, the hue of the sky is a type of white I have never encountered. It was once azure. Now, I think to call it a bleached blue. Impulsively, I want stars to appear, and they do. I begin to count them out loud under my breath._

_There are no boundaries to my thoughts. I feel enormous and somehow everywhere at once. I have nothing to do with anything other than this place. I have given up my history entirely._

_"Nym," I hear Solas' say again. He uses a voice like one might with a lost child._

_I am not a child, but I feel like I am. Small and groundless._

_I think again about how much I want to see Solas, and he appears before me suddenly. He offers me his hand, and I take it. His grip is firm, and I try to match its strength with my own. I don't want to fly away into another world. I have to hold on._

_"It is tempting to stay, but now is not the time," Solas persuades. I look at the line of his jaw. His face is as neutral as it always is. I look at his eyes. They are not sparkling like they have been over the last few weeks. Instead, he seems sorrowful and desperate. He is trying to convince me, I realize, of a reality other than this one._

_He's not wearing his uniform of loose-fitting knits. No, he's dressed in gold-patterned armor that fits him like dragonscale. A giant wolf pelt is tied around his shoulders. The moment I begin to focus on his appearance, however, it disappears, and he is the same humble man I know from Haven._

_Without restraint, I put my hand up to his face to touch his cheeks. He closes his eyes tightly and then opens them again sadly as if he were about to squeeze out a single tear. I trace its would-be path with wonder._

_"Nym. Da'len. Will you come back with me, please?"_

_"Go back where?" I ask._

_Haven't I always been here?_

_I think back to what I was doing before and remember a party. Varric's party. I step back from Solas, a wine glass appears in my hand and suddenly shoots out and shatters against an invisible wall into the void._

_Solas retakes my hand, and he's interlinking his fingers securely with mine._

_"Nym, you were poisoned. You need to wake up."_

_I let go of him. He looks to retake hold of me but hesitates._

_"What are we doing here?" I ask again._

_"You are dreaming. This is the Fade," he says. His voice is growing more insistent. "You have stayed here too long."_

_I can't help it. I put my arms around his waist. I'm frightened, and Solas is the only thing that feels concrete and real. He is surprised at first, but then, in turn, puts his arms carefully around me. I want him to pull me into a full embrace. But he is all tight muscle that hesitates to reciprocate._

_"You've been here too long, da'len. Remember the Inquisition and your friends. They wait for you to wake," he pauses and puts his hand up under my chin and tenderly pulls my face gently up so I can look directly into his eyes. "I wait for you. Wake up."_

_I do as he asks._

My eyes opened to the rafters of my cabin covered in bushels of elfroot and embrium I had hung to dry. In the next room, I could hear the hushed voices of Cassandra and Leliana nervously chatting. Despite the summer heat, a fire was lit in the hearth, and the smell of incense wafted in the heavy air. I detected hints of lavender and jasmine and other herbs meant to hasten sleep. I called out for someone--anyone--but I could only make rough sounds removed from any coherent speech. It was difficult, but I managed to push my body up onto my elbows. My head pounded a painful drumbeat as the room seemed to wobble of its own accord. 

_What had just happened? One moment I was dancing at Varric's party, and the next, I was floating in a mysterious void._

"Hello," Solas greeted me when he saw me rise. He was sitting in a plush chair next to my bed. I noticed how wan he was. Dark circles lined his eyes and there was a slight slump to his usually perfect posture. Still, even if he was exhausted, he smiled without any restraint and reached over to move a few loose strands of my hair out of my face. I thought back to that night in the Hinterlands and how clinical he had been treating my wounds. There was another dimension to this touch. At least, an affectionate one. 

I tried to speak again, and a few broken syllables came out. 

"You should ease into speaking," he warned in a gentle voice, "It is likely your vocal cords were bruised. We, Fiona and I, had to pour tonics down your throat to dilute the poison." 

I looked down at myself and saw that I was wearing nothing but a thin slip and some cotton shorts. Not even a sheet covered me modestly. As if reading my mind, Solas grabbed a blanket and pulled it up tightly below my chin. 

"You've been very ill with a fever. You wouldn't let us keep anything on your skin." I could feel myself redden. I flashed back, and somewhere in between dreams, I recall thrashing in the dark, Solas' face looking over me worriedly. He put the back of his hand to my forehead to feel my temperature.

"Excellent," he announced, "it has broken." 

Solas then pulled the chair up closer to the edge of the bed and sat down again with a deep sigh of fatigue. The lines around his face were more rooted in the light of the fire. I thought he might fall back asleep again, but instead, he took, from the bed stand, a ceramic bowl filled with water and a clean white cloth with which he mopped at my forehead with great care. 

"I suppose this time I can't scold you for rushing into a Fade rift unprepared," he said breezily as if making a joke. The concern underneath, however, was palpable. 

I closed my eyes as the cool cloth washed away the sweat from my brow. I was still so tired. 

When he finished, he wrung the towel and put the basin on the floor, tucking it out of the way underneath the bed. 

I tried to speak again, managing to get out a few hoarse notes: "Vaaar-varric. Bu..bull." 

"Both are fine. Fascinatingly, Bull's Ben-Hassareth training included taking small amounts of most poisons over time to develop immunity. Varric was also ill, but not as severely as you. He claims that he, also like Bull, trained his body to be immune, but I suspect it has more to do with pickling himself nightly with strong Dwarven spirits. That and dwarves…" 

I made a few muffled noises. 

"Yes?" he paused again, reaching for a goblet near the side of the bed to offer me a drink of water. He held it to my lips while cradling my head in the other. I swallowed; it was painful. Still, it was enough to restore some of my voice. 

"If you say dwarves are less fragile than elves, I will smite you." I croaked out, trying to flick my wrist to demonstrate. 

Solas laughed. "Ir abelas, I won't finish that sentence." 

With another exhausted sigh, Solas plopped down again in the chair. "I'll alert the others shortly to your waking. I'm surprised they haven't noticed yet. Unfortunately, I think they argue about things that may or may not come." He leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes in relief. 

I reached out my hand to touch him, but could only reach his knee. He looked at me curiously before asking: "Yes?" 

"The dream before I woke, I never had..." My voice gave out. 

"I went to find you amidst the Fade _._ You were far gone, and you had lingered in its depth for a time longer than I would advise. It was a desperate measure." 

I nodded, even if it was difficult for me to process the information, as I could feel the tug of sleep again. It was not the pull of fever, but a peaceful lull. I could get rest.. Solas began to stroke my hair back, tucking the pieces that had fallen over my face. His fingers were careful not to linger, I think, to appear as a dedicated friend might. 

"Erathe ma, lethalian, It is safe. Ar' am' min amahn." [sleep now, dear one. It is safe. I will stay here with you yet]. 

\---

The poison almost killed me. For the next few days, I'd sometimes wake to see Solas fast asleep in the chair beside me. Other times, Dorian or Cassandra would look up from their reading material, stopping to offer me a drink of water quickly, and to talk to me for the few flickering seconds, I was conscious. 

A week after the party, I was able to move for short periods. It was then that Leliana came to visit with me. The two of us sat in my living room, drinking two mugs of hot water with ginger and honey. Other than broth, I hadn't managed to stomach much else. 

"It seems you have another enemy to consider, Herald," Leliana announced. "You're no longer a figurehead but a threat. Perhaps to this Elder One, but I sense another hand at play here."

"Was the wine for me?" I asked with a gasp. Even if I had been a casualty to the attempt, it had not occurred to me that I was the target. "How could that be?" 

Leliana shrugged. "It is hard to know for sure. The poison was not Antivian, but a popular one from Orlais made out of amarita vine and mandrake root. It's very potent. If you had another drop, you would have died in a matter of minutes." 

"I don't understand if the poison is Orlesian….was it the Chantry?" 

"As far as I can tell, it could have been anyone." Lelianna sighed, taking out from underneath her cloak, a band holding together small fragments of paper. I knew it to be the one she carried with her always of her most secret, desperate notes. Once each was committed to memory, she burned them. 

"Was it Vivienne?" I asked, looking away from her towards the edge of my mug. I didn't regret the words I had said to her, but I hoped she didn't wish me that ill. 

"I had considered her as a possibility. From what I know of her reputation, she likes to make her victims aware of her strike." She inhaled sharply, "She's not happy with you, that is true, but I think you might have won some of her respect standing up to her like you did." 

"She'd never admit to that," I said coyly, taking another sip of hot liquid. 

"No," Lelianna laughed cheerfully then grew solemn once again. "There is one clue I'm hesitant to tell you. In Orlesian, the poison is called _le lapine silencieuse."_

"I recognize the _le lapine,"_ I grumbled. 

"Yes, the 'silent rabbit' as undetected elven servants first used it on members of the court. Three noble families fell in an entire summer. Over time, it became the toxin of choice to get rid of one's overly informed, elven servant." 

"So...whoever sent it….was trying…" 

"Yes," Leliana replied gracelessly, "Whoever sent it was trying to do the 'rabbit-ear' in." 

I put down my mug and self-consciously pinched the tips of my ears in my fingers. 

"I'm sorry," Lelianna cajoled, putting her hand on my shoulder. 

I sighed. I had grown used to the sideways glances I received even amongst Haven. It was another thing, entirely, to be the subject of such reprehensible bigotry. I had never faced an enemy that I couldn't meet on the battlefield. It had never occurred to me that I could be targeted in such an underhanded way. _What next?_

"I suggest," Lelianna said softly. "We don't let whoever did this know that they almost succeeded."

I raised my eyebrow. "The whole town saw. How can that not…?"

"Food-poisoning," Lelianna coyly whispered, leaning back into her chair, two green eyes stared back at me playfully. 

"Really?" I rolled my eyes. "This is your brilliant idea." 

Lelianna shrugged. "You won't feel like it, but you'll need to start going back to Council meetings tomorrow. You'll need to appear fresh and enthusiastic. Otherwise, the whispers will grow, and this sort of stunt will catch like wildfire amongst the Orlesian game." 

"Varric will never forgive you for suggesting he served his guests bad food, you know." I retorted dryly. 

"That is something I think we can all, literally, live with, Herald," Leliana said, laughing. 

\---

I did as Lelianna instructed. I woke each day and went to Council meetings. There was some suffering to it, as the poison had irreversibly damaged my throat and stomach. To this day, I have to be careful about the portions I take and the spices in my food, or I feel unwell. Despite this, I made sure to always speak with great passion. I sat up straight when my body wished to slump. However, banal it was, the practice of this taught me a valuable, if not violent, lesson: the ability to pretend. I knew If I was going to survive in this world, I had to learn such a skill.

\---

I went to see how Varric was as soon as I could. I was ushered into his cabin by a weary elven attendant. I laughed when I saw him, for he was theatrically propped up with velvet pillows, his chest hair proudly displayed from underneath a jacquard jacket. It amazed me that no matter the time of day, or the circumstances, that Varric never misses an opportunity to hold court. 

"Hi kid," he said, vibrantly gesturing for me to sit in a chair next to his bed. He was sipping water out of a crystal wine glass. 

"I'm sorry your party was ruined." I solemnly said. "It was a beautiful evening." 

"I'm the one that should apologize." Varric said gravely, "In all the novels I write, someone always gets poisoned, and it's always the wine sent mysteriously from Antiva." 

"No one could have known Varric," I said solemnly. 

"I hope for your sake, what happens in my novels doesn't happen to be your ending.I've written enough to know that it doesn't end well for characters like you. We've got an assassin now. Add a star-crossed lover or two, and you've got a recipe ripe for disaster." 

"Star-crossed lover?" I repeated under my breath, a little too loudly for him to hear. 

"Yes, are you thinking of anyone in particular? I haven't had a good idea for a book for some time." 

"No, Varric," I demurely responded, trying to appear wholly as an innocent elven-maiden. _Well, I was then._

"Well, do me a favor, let me know if you have any notes to add. I think there will be a story to tell of your life at the end of this."

"I just hope I make it," I said jokingly. _Only not._

He sweetly put his hand on mine. "I'll be here, kid, watching over you. I'm sorry I messed that up this time." 

\---

Once my recovery was inevitable, Solas did not visit me much. I didn't have the time or concentration to ruminate over it. However, when several days passed without a word from him, I went to go formally thank him for his help, thinking perhaps something was wrong. 

Summer was short-lived in the Frostback mountains, and the air was cold. A miserable sideways rain was starting to fall, catching me unaware as I made the short walk to his cabin. When I reached it, I found the door unlatched. I peered in, and aside from the perfectly made bed, the place was utterly devoid of any artifact or signs of life. 

My snooping was interrupted by Adan. 

"Solas told me he'd be going away. If you hurry, you might still catch him." 

"Going away? How long?" I practically cried out. _Was he leaving for good?_ I didn't expect him to stay after we sealed the Breach, but certainly, he would have stopped by or said something if he intended to leave prior. 

"Don't know," he grumbled. "But like I said, if you hurry, you might still catch him, he's not long departed." 

Before he could finish his explanation, I had strapped my staff on my back and spirited down the dirt road. When I reached the rise of the hill, I could make out a figure bobbing up and down in a tattered cloak with a staff that looked more like a walking stick. It was Solas. I looked at the heavy pack he carried on his back. I anticipated it held everything he owned. 

" _Hahren,"_ I shouted, "Solas, wait!" My throat was still tender, so it was difficult for me to yell. The rain began to spurt in a downpour, drowning out any attempt I made to get his attention. 

"Solas!" I called running down the hill and panting. He continued forward. 

Desperate, thinking I might never see him again, I took my staff and sent a bolt of frost to strike directly behind him. Startled, he turned to see me, and stopped. As he walked closer to meet me, I could make out a confused look on his face. His eyebrows turned upwards. It was just the two of us on the dirt road. 

"Adan said you were leaving." I panted hunched over when he reached me. I was soaked, my hair and clothes clinging to me as the wind began to howl in earnest. 

"I am da'len _."_

"But…" I whimpered. 

"Ancient things call to me once again. Although where I go is not to dream." 

"Stay, please. The Inquisition still needs you." I could feel the desperation welling in my chest. _Why wouldn't he hold on for a few short weeks?_

"Do you still feel ill, da'len?" 

"No," I stopped, "I went to your cabin. I wanted to thank you for all you did to save me. Again." 

"You're welcome." 

"Can I come with you?" I impulsively asked. 

"I don't think that's a good idea. Your body still repairs itself. And the anchor is needed by the mages right now." He spoke softly, but his attention seemed elsewhere on some of distant and forgotten thing. 

"You didn't say goodbye," I said, feeling tears beginning to well up in my eyes. 

" _Dareth Shiral_." He aloofly said. 

"Always dreaming about the past." I retorted, the rage rising in my voice, "What about the future?" 

"Nym, I don't understand your anger," Solas said as he set down his pack and stared at me indignantly. "I dreamed a restless sleep and found an ancient elven artifact not far from here. I must go to it to see if I might repair a bit of Veil." 

"Your cabin was empty," I asked, not bothering to hide the fact that I had intruded on his private space. I didn't find I cared if he knew. 

"That is because, da'len, I carry with me few things of this world." He had a faint smile despite his visible impatience. 

"You are coming back?" Relief flooded through my body like an electric shock. 

"With luck." He said, "Although, I don't think my absence should affect you. I will return before the Breach is sealed, as the mages require my direction. It will be some weeks, however, in which time you have other things to attend to other than this _hahren, surely."_

I could feel a single tear running down my face. I thought for a moment to wipe it away. I had to ask myself: why was I crying? I was startled at how much loss I felt at the prospect of never seeing Solas again. I looked away from his gaze.

"I thought you were leaving," I exhaled, "Forever." 

"Not today, da'len _,"_ he said mournfully, "I'm sorry to have worried you." 

"A few weeks, and you'll return?" 

"Yes, and now, da'len _,_ I _really_ must say _dareth shiral."_

I didn't respond. Instead, I was frozen looking down on the ground as the rain pelted down on my face mixing with the residue of my tears. 

Without another word, he picked up his things, nodded, and then turned, his cloak billowed out around him, and he continued unflappably trudging through the rain and wind before stopping as if something snapped in him and I could hear him drop his staff and pack before his feet softly treaded through the puddles in the mud back towards me. 

His arms wound around me tightly. This was not the embrace we had shared in the Fade. It was concrete and material. I had been entirely unprepared for it, and if I had a few seconds of warning, I might have kissed him then and there for the first time. Only, there was something deeper to his caress than lust. The pressure of his strong hands on my waist was hungry, but the sensation was tinged with a forlorn quality I couldn't get quite place. 

I think, if it weren't for the way his thumb slowly traced up my spine underneath his cloak, it might have appeared to have been a platonic embrace. However, It was all the invitation I needed. I began to burrow into the warmth of his body with my hips, and I could feel him, in turn, breathing in the scent of my hair, the tip of his nose lightly traced the top edge of my ear. For a moment, the pull of the world, and the Inquisition, melted away. There was only us.

With a sudden jerk, he pulled himself away. Stepping back, he rubbed his hands over the top of his head and his mouth as if in great torment. 

"Solas?" I was bewildered. 

He smiled, taking off a woolen scarf from around his neck, wrapping the thick fibers around my shivering body.

"You should find shelter in this storm, _da'len_ ," he said in a low voice before turning once again to walk-off into the horizon, leaving me to the rain and my thoughts for the offering of some sort of ancient and forgotten world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ I read that when they were writing Solas' character they had him speak in iambic pentameter and I attempted to do this in a few parts if it sounds a little unnatural. 
> 
> +Really, I think that Solas and Lavellan would be speaking in Elvhen most of the time, but I think that would make for a really difficult read through. 
> 
> \+ I played a bit with voice. I thought since the Fade has this sort of timeless, non-linear quality that switching to the present tense might be an interesting contrast to the past tense. 
> 
> \+ I wanted to imply (if this wasn’t explicit) that the poison was sent on whim by an Orlesian noble who had nothing better to do. I thought this would be a nice contrast to the dutiful Inquisition in a “war table brought to life” sort of way.
> 
> \+ I tried to borrow a bit from the Inquisitor and Solas final parting to contrast with later parts of the story. She’s still innocent (& falling in love) and in my head canon Solas hasn’t reconciled what he wants to do yet.
> 
> +Yes, Solas is an egg. AN EGG. total and complete EGG.


	16. Move With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas returns and some passionate mage flirting ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wouldn't call this chapter NSFW; but it's also not chaste.

**CHAPTER XIV**

Solas did not come back until mid-autumn. 

I tried to occupy my mind with subjects other than his absence. Occasionally, at night, when I was in my cabin by myself, I'd take out the scarf that Solas had wrapped around me in the downpour, fold, unfold, and then re-fold it again. The ritual made me feel a little fool-hardy. Still, I couldn't help it when I fantasized about what more might happen on his homecoming. 

I was constantly pulled in two directions: discomfort at my lack of self-control and the yearning that buzzed in me like a beehive. What was I to do? 

_There was no shelter to be found in this particular storm._

\---

The night that Solas returned, it was the Andastrian holiday to mark the end of the harvest. In the center of Haven's square, the townspeople had gathered around a large bonfire drinking mulled cider. From my cabin, I could hear Varric raucously telling stories about his adventures with Hawke as the Chargers clattered in an off-tune singalong with the bard. I wanted to attend right away, but I couldn't excuse myself to skip my daily practice. 

After the assassination attempt, my body took a few months to sustain intense training. Towards the end of summer, reinvigorated, I had resolved to drill for a few hours each night. Sometimes Dorian would join. Other times I would enjoy the solitary exercise. Besides, I felt I needed to regain my full strength as the Inquisition had gathered enough reputable supplies of lyrium to seal the Breach. We'd be ready once I gave the word. 

Careful not to bring attention to myself as I avoided the festival, I walked out past the city gates and turned into the surrounding wilderness. My mind was not on anything important. Instead, I tried to center my emotions on the present moment, like, the rough feel of the gravel under my bare toes mixed with the crunch of fallen leaves. I breathed in the brisk air as the tall grasses whipped about in the mild wind. I felt lucky that the sky was not completely dark, as the light from the bonfire and a low hanging full-moon reflected off the groves of birch trees. 

When I was far enough away to begin, I inhaled and exhaled in-and-out in a measured rhythm. First, without my staff, I vigorously practiced my attack forms. After I had warmed up, I began to cast varying degrees of barrier spells in an attempt to hone its range (to the confusion of several nearby rams). I summoned at a leisurely pace when I was interrupted by the sound of subdued footsteps behind me. 

Turning, I recognized Solas' willowy movements. I thought him radiant as the ambient light illuminated his angular features and made it appear as if he floated towards me across the dim landscape. When he saw me, an enigmatic smile flashed across his face, his eyes glinting mischievously. 

My heart began to flutter, and I hoped that he might embrace me, only to be disappointed when he came to a halt at least an arm's length away. His expression looked unworried but distant. One hand held his staff lazily as the other was placed in a pocket. 

I wondered how anyone couldn't stop and admire him, as his fine features were unlike any I had seen before. 

" _Andran atish'an, hahren_ ," I greeted him. As much as I tried not to appear too overeager, my words fell out too quickly. 

" _Andran atish'an, da'len,"_ his level voice replied. 

"You're back? Did you find the artifact?"

"I did not think to find you out here alone," he said, evading my question, "I thought you would be at the bonfire when I returned an hour ago." 

"Practice," I shrugged. 

"Let's see it then." He demanded. I knew him well enough to know that his serious tone was performative, as his broad smile teased me. 

" _Ma nuveian_." I could feel my ears pinken. The awareness of Solas' eyes following my every gesture made me feel as if I were dreaming. Nevertheless, I did as he asked, clenching my aura tightly around my senses, picturing where I wanted the magic to travel, spinning in one circular moment, and then releasing my mana as I slammed my staff down with a sharp crack. Magic trickled over the ground, creeping up Solas' legs, then up to his thighs, towards his throat. 

"A good attempt," he said cockily, "If, however, you focus differently, it will allow the magical energy to flow more to impair incoming mana. Here, I'll demonstrate." 

He did. His body swayed in the moonlight as his hand glided across the air. Even though he pulled his leg in the opposite direction, it seemed as though he moved in a single fluid gesture. He was exquisite. His broad chest and shoulder muscles rippled underneath his thin tunic. His mana collected into a deep pool which he allowed to build until he released it at precisely the right moment boosting the potency of the cast. A humming feeling hit the ground, winding its way up my legs in soft vibrations. The magic heated my limbs as the air collected around me as if I were surrounded by a metaphysical cocoon. If someone had thrust a blade towards my throat, it would not hit a vein. 

I wondered for the thousandth time: Where had Solas learned such things? 

\---

The other companions had, at times, also speculated on this topic.

After watching Solas effortlessly cast his spell, I thought back to one specific conversation I had with Iron Bull a few days after the Qunari arrived in Haven. 

A trained Ben-Hassarth, Bull was familiar with the capital of secrets, and delighted in his powers of observance to put together a profile of all he encountered based on behavioral cues. No matter how many times he tried, Solas was a puzzle. 

"What is that fighting style?" He asked me one night over dinner. "I've never seen such movements from a mage. When Solas casts magic, it's so strong even I can hear the rings." He wiped away a bit of stew from above his lip with the back of his hand, his face concentrating as if visualizing an imaginary encyclopedia. "He's not Dalish?" 

"No," I answered, "That much he has made clear." 

"His movements tell me at one point he was," Bull's mouth turned into a thin disgruntled line, "He doesn't hide the sounds of his footsteps, Although sometimes he chooses to. I think for the fun of it. When he's relaxed, and he thinks no one is watching, he walks like a man that doesn't fear _anything._ He doesn't have any of the manners of Tevinter, although he does seem to be comfortable in luxury." 

Bull subtly side-eyed Solas, who sat far away at another table eating with a non-stop talking Varric. I tried to do the same. 

"Don't _look directly at him_ ," the Iron Bull whispered aggressively. 

I pretended to brush some hair out of my fave and turn my head only slightly to look at Solas as unobtrusively as possible. He took one bite after another elegant bite, carefully using his fork and knife simultaneously. Josephine had confessed to me long ago how jealous she was about how effortless his table manners were. 

Bull began to narrate Solas' gestures, "See how he eats. So smooth and perfect. Not a single crumb escapes. It takes years of training to be able to eat so flawlessly." 

"He told me he lost his home once," I said cautiously. I didn't want to share too many of Solas' secrets he had told me in confidence. 

"He's older. Maybe he lost his family in the Blight. Most of Fereladen did. He could have been from one of the independent kingdoms in the North, a merchant perhaps, or one of the so-called Lost Tribes, the ones that don't want to be called Dalish but still wander around the woods in ancient ruins without any contact." 

"The Lost Tribes are a legend," I said with a bored sigh, shoving a piece of buttered bread into my mouth. "A hopeful story that anything pre-dating the fall of Arlavathan survived." 

"Careful," Bull warned, "Circumstances like these are the times when legends are unearthed." 

"I'll believe it when I see it," I said cynically. _That statement was a mistake._

"In any event, Solas is a mystery. I hope he isn't a dangerous one." 

\---

"How do you do that?" I asked in wonder. 

"Time and practice, just like you lethallan." 

I shook my head skeptically, closing my eyes tightly as his mana washed over my body. The image of touching the glyphs in the Elvhen tomb came to mind, and I recalled the tingling sensation that felt like small bursts of ice when I "read" them with my fingertips.

"No, I feel something else when you cast," I said dreamily, "Something lost and ancient." 

Solas laughed heartily then. 

"You flatter me, but I can show you if you like" His eyes glinted when I returned his gaze. It was made of the same expression as the one I had received at Lake Luthias. Only this time, there was an edge of intentionality, as if he wanted me to know it was obvious. 

"Please," I said with a small grandiose bow that earned me another laugh. 

I expected him to step closer or give me a detailed play-by-play of his steps. He had done that more times than I could count. Instead, to my surprise, he leaned his staff up against a nearby tree and came to stand behind me. Before I could react, his hands clenched my waist. The touch of his fingers radiated mighty electric jolts from his recently expelled mana. 

"Your initial stance needs to be more steady at the outset," Solas said in a factual tone while gently pulling my body straight. The pressure of his touch, at first, was detached, but as his hands expertly migrated from my hips to my shoulders, to my waist again, I couldn't help but unexpectedly sigh with pleasure. Solas took this as permission to deepen his embrace. 

"You have excellent form," he said as his breath tickled at the back of my neck. His calloused fingers moved between mine to adjust the spacing to be wider where my grip curled intently around the shaft of my staff. "Notice, however, if you hold your staff loosely like this it will allow you more flexibility, which will ease your transition from spell-to-spell." 

Before I could speak, his hands moved around and over me again. One arm encircled my waist completely as though to prevent me from falling forward, the other moved languidly over the length of my arm, landing with his hand resting around my hand holding the staff. I could feel his steady breathing quicken with a sharp inhale. He smelled like cedarwood and sweet cinnamon. It reminded me of pleasant earthy things. 

I wanted to turn to look at him, but the way he was holding me made it impossible to twist towards him. I was distracted from speaking again when Solas guided my staff arm in a gentle arc a few times back and forth. 

"Moving this way allows your mana a wider range," He whispered into my ear quietly as though he knew that would draw my body in closer. I leaned back into him, tentatively at first, but then as he hungrily pushed against me, I gave in to the warmth of his arms and felt a new thrill pulsating through my body. 

"Now your step," He said with a smile on his breath. 

His knee insistently nudged between my legs, and despite my attempt at self-control, I gasped when he twined a leg between mine. I attempted to twist around again to see the expression on his face, but our tangled limbs prevented me from doing so. I squeezed into him as our breathing accelerated in unison. 

"Pool your mana," he commanded. His voice sounded cool on the surface as if he was deliberately ignoring the intensity between us. Still, I detected a subtle ragged edge to it. A few of his fingers strayed to my ribs over my shirt and traced over them. 

" _Sathan,"_ I panted desperately. I didn't have the sense to say anything coherent. My body trembled in contrast to his firm grasp. 

"Pool your mana, _sathan_ ," He said as if that was my meaning. As if he had not aroused me. It threw me off the edge, and I shook as my heart palpitated in my chest. I struggled to find any focus as I could feel Solas' nose lightly grazing the tips of my ears, and burrowing into my hair. I marveled, however, at his control, as his mana began to wash over the two of us. I could feel it moving over my skin in small static bursts. 

" _Sathan,"_ he hummed into my ear in a low throaty voice, "Your mana, _da'len_ _."_

It was a struggle, but I reached for my mana, merging it with his. It didn't take long to collect enough power to cast. 

"Move with me," Solas instructed. I expected him to guide our bodies quickly, but instead he turned us slowly in a dance, drawing out each turn like an Orlesian waltz, his hands never once loosening their hold on me as we released the spell.

As the spell flickered in the air, I froze as he held me silently. I closed my eyes tightly to listen to his heartbeat in a happy daze, the barrier spell tingling on our skin.

"Solas," I could only manage to say his name in a rough, desperate utterance. I felt his fingers trace over my hips once more before he released me like a hunter would their prey. 

I snapped around to see Solas breathless. 

_"Ir Abeles_ ," he said quietly. "That was impulsive." 

I didn't answer. I could see Solas' intense gaze widen as I walked towards him. His hands were subtly outstretched, and I was confident, despite his hesitation, that when I reached him, we would fall into each other in a fervor. I was inches away when I heard someone call out my name.

Only it was not from Solas' lips. 

It was Josephine's. 

I groaned and rolled my eyes. I had forgotten that I had promised Josephine that I'd join her at the bonfire as soon as my practice time was over. She, being an exceptional friend, knew that I'd likely have forgotten and came to remind me. 

"Nym!" I heard her voice again, louder and more persistent. 

"Not tonight, _da'len_ _,"_ Solas said mournfully, quiet enough, so Josephine didn’t overhear. 

"Oh, Nym! Solas!" I can hear Josephine say happily in her high voice. She jogged over to meet us oblivious to the tension of what just passed. She was and still is relatively innocent and didn't think much about finding us outdoors and out of breath. 

"Lady Montilyet," Solas greeted her nobly. 

"You're back!" Josephine chattered excitedly. "Leliana will be looking for your report...Perhaps that can wait until after the party..." 

She looked back and forth between us expectantly. Solas quickly moved to pick up his staff before smoothly offering Josephine his elbow. 

"Perhaps you would honor me by allowing me to accompany you to the bonfire, Lady Montilyet?" 

Josephine looked overjoyed and accepted his arm immediately. I couldn't help but feel a little crestfallen watching the two of them make their way towards Haven when Solas turned to look at me with a wink. "Are you coming, Nym?" He arched his eyebrow suggestively, and all I could do was run to join them. 

_"Not tonight,"_ I thought sadly to myself. _"Then when?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andran atish'an=Dalish greeting  
> ma nuveien=as you wish  
> Sathan=please  
> Ir Abeles=sorry 
> 
> \+ Basically in my head cannon Nym is super skeptical of legends. Part of her arc is having to reconcile what she considers to be a measure & rational approach with things she thinks to be far fetched. I thought this be an interesting take on the Dalish background since most writers make for reverent elves. This isn’t to say she isn’t eager to learn more about Elvhen history and culture, but she is skeptical of myth being accurate.
> 
> +Also finally leaving Haven. SPENT WAY TOO LONG IN THE HINTERLANDS.


	17. The Elder One Arrives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haven falls. Nym saves the day. She has another dream (this time staring Tor of the Dunes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is super dark and violent and includes graphic battle scenes

**CHAPTER XV**

If you had told me the day we sealed the Breach would be my last in Haven, I wouldn’t have believed you. In the middle of the celebration, the Elder One appeared. He crept out from the shadows with an army of Red Templars in tow. The savage horde descended on the small city without mercy and cut down any that opposed them until the sky boiled with blood and flame. 

Even if we were caught unaware, Inquisition forces quickly mobilized and repelled the first wave of soldiers. As the night wore on, however, it became clear that despite formidable resources and personnel, we were severely outnumbered. Hope evaporated, almost instantly, when the ear-splitting cry of the Archdemon cut through the sound of battle. 

Retreating to the Chantry, Cullen threw his head into his hands and cried out in despair, “We’d at least better make them fight for it!” 

We did. I swung my staff as Iron Bull and Cassandra used ax and sword to repeal Red Templars from striking me down as I cast spell-after-spell. Varric followed closely behind me, his trigger-finger precisely striking long-range archers who unrelentingly teemed on the walls and rooftops like a cloud of black insects. 

Our movements slowed as we attempted to rescue anyone we could. On several occasions, Cassandra or Bull bashed open the doors of burning buildings and pulled unconscious town people into clean air. The screams of innocents burning alive, along with the smell of their flesh, continue to haunt me. Even now, late at night, I remorsefully think of the squelch of an Inquisition soldier’s muscle as the ax of a Templar cleaved him in two. A little huff of air expelled in his lungs in a muted death gasp. 

Even if there is (metaphorical) blood on own my hands, it is still hard for me to imagine such senseless murder. The red lyrium powering the Templars twisted them into soulless creatures without any drive but the terrible call of the strange matter’s song. Killing in its name came easily to them. My skin still crawls when I recall the homicidal glint in the eyes of a Templar who managed, that evening, to pin me down. His stare was devoid of any emotion or care, even when I managed to shove a blade up his throat and watched his life’s blood spit out.

However many villagers we saved, no matter the effort, it felt as if we were only pausing our eventual demise that night. Eventually, exhausted and disheartened, the four of us returned to the Chantry to come upon Grandmaster Rodderick lying in the foyer. He was mortally wounded with a stab to the gut. Even if he had been unkind to me throughout the last three years, it still pained me to see him so reduced. Solas kneeled next to him, attempting to helplessly use his mana to heal the wound, while Leliana patted Rodderick’s arm affectionately to offer him comfort. 

A group gathered around him, as we began trying to figure out what came next. 

“There is a way through,” he insisted to us, “Help me up!” 

“Rodderick,” Leliana wearily trailed off. 

“Now!” he said, grabbing at her arm insistently to give him leverage to rise. “There is a secret path, and I can show you the way. There is still time for us to escape...Andraste has shown me the way” 

Cullen interrupted, “Even if we can make it out of here, the troops will find us. The Archdemon...” He paused to think, “It _might_ be possible if we can launch the last trebuchet into the mountain. An avalanche would bury the city...but it would also annihilate the Templars...in one fell swoop.” 

I nodded, contemplating the might of the war machines, and how if one could manage to shoot off a missile, how it could potentially decimate the whole stampede. I came to a grim realization; however, as Cullen spoke it out loud. 

“It would be a suicide mission.” He turned to give more orders to start the slow pilgrimage out of the Chantry to a safe place elsewhere. 

“I’ll do it. I’ll go.” I announced without hesitation. The others were surprised, but before they could protest, I began to gather my things. I gazed longingly at Solas whose mouth parted in astonishment, he made a movement to grab me, but I fade-walked through the town towards the trebuchet. 

“Wait,” he cried out to me in uncharacteristic anguish. “Nym!” 

All I could think of, however, was the Solas of the future who had wisely said to me, “Some worthly causes have a high cost.” Saving Haven, and my friends, was one. 

Still, I had on fleeting regret, in what I anticipated were my final moments, I wished that I had stopped to stand on my tip-toes and given the apostate mage a goodbye kiss. _“Ar dea deal de den a felasil”_ [I was a fool], the Solas of the future had said to me. I think I finally empathized with his words as I climbed down the steps away from the world, and its people, I had so come to love. 

\---

Claws picked me up and flung me through the air as if I weighed nothing. I had been face-to-face with the Elder One, whose name was revealed to be Corypheus. It took me months to string together his story as a Darkspawn magister. When I first laid eyes upon him, I couldn’t help but notice how his sallow skin stretched over bizarre crystal clusters as if he were a pastiche of flesh and mineral. 

When I slammed against the base of the wooden trebuchet, I could hear my shoulder snap out of the joint, and my collar bone shatter. My eyes followed the eerie silhouette of my enemy and his pet archdemon. 

“I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the Empire in person, “ Corypheus had ebulliently cried, “I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years, I was confused. No more.” 

I moaned from the shooting pain that prevented me from rising. I was fraught, searching for something-- _anything_ that might aid me in releasing the trebuchet. Discouraged, but not resigned to failure, I rolled to my side and saw a discarded sword adjacent to the body of one of the Inquisition soldiers. Who they were; however, I will never know as their face had been beaten in, their skull effortlessly cracked open like a thin eggshell as the juice of his brains seeped into a freshly-fallen snow. 

“I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own.” The magister manically called out to me as his Archdemon anxiously paced, “To champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world.” 

As the snowfall increased, I could see the gray of my enemies’ silhouettes gloomily passing over the white ground. In the background, the steps of the Templars’ stampede echoed off the mountainsides, unit leaders calling out in ferocious growls to foot soldiers whose plate metal clanged as they stepped in place ready to make a killing charge.

”Beg that I succeed!” Corypheus cried out, the shadow of his hands crumpling around empty air, “ For I have seen the Throne of the Gods, and it was empty!”

I grabbed the hilt of the sword and counted down from three until I could hop up and taunted, “Your arrogance blinds you. If the Inquisition falls, it will not be today!” 

I raised the sword above my head and flung the blade down to cut the rope, I let fly the rock into the distance and cheered when a loud crash indicated it collided with the rockface releasing the avalanche. I could hear the defeated whoosh of the Archdemon’s wings as it picked up its master, and took to flight as the Templars' voices were snuffed out. 

Desperate, I began to run towards the Chantry, in an attempt to reunite with the fleeing Inquisition, only for a barrage of snow to sweep over me, breaking open the earth, propelling me downwards into one of Haven’s decrepit underground passages. 

I hit my head on a brick cairn, and the world fell to oblivion. 

\---

_I woke on my back, staring up at a vibrant, clear sky. Blades of grass tickle my exposed skin. I sit up and see a mellow sea. Waves hit the shore below. I get up to brush off the weeds from my body. I am on top of a hill covered in white and lavender clover._

_A short distance away, I see a figure in a royal blue robe hunched over. As I move forward, I notice the distinctive white top-knot of Tor._ _I put my hand on his shoulder, and his face covered in silent tears looks up at me. He sits next to a body wrapped in a white muslin shroud._

_“Hadrian,” I whispered. I turned again, recognizing the tall elm trees we buried the hunter, and Tor’s husband, under a few years before I left for the Conclave._

_A wave of sobs pass through my chest as I relived all I felt the day Hadrian died._

_I had loved him dearly, as when I had joined the clan, he, along with Tor, had taken a father’s interest in me. A proud and strong man, when I was a young girl, he would let me comb my fingers through his long auburn waves, as he told me stories. That beautiful hair had turned gray, seemingly overnight. Even as he had aged, he had remained faster than all the other young men. In a few short months, however, that strength withered away into nothing mysteriously. The once robust hunter who had fallen big game without trouble, struggled to do basic things like pulling a tunic over his head._

_“There is a fire in my chest,” Hadrian complained one night, drinking a mug of hot tea._

_Tor and I did everything we could for him, even traveling to Wycome to find an expert healer. For a time, we were able to stall whatever sickness ate away at his body, only for the disease to return relentlessly. Tor, always optimistic, had been unprepared for such a dismal outcome._

_“I’ve lived a good life,” he said to us both one evening as I wept holding his hand. “Be well after I leave you.”_

_Those were his last coherent words. For another week, he muttered and sweat, his limbs attempting to strike phantom threats. Tor oscillated between agony and acceptance. Sometimes he paced about tugging at his hair. Other times, he sat looking adoringly down at Hadrian while telling old stories about when they were two young men adventuring without a care but their passion for one another. The moment Tor hears the death rattle of his partner’s chest, however, he is undone, sobbing on the ground until he collapsed from exhaustion._

_\---_

_I realize, yes, this is the place where we buried Hadrian. Only this isn’t how it happened. The clan had gathered around Tor and I, as Hadrian was deeply beloved. One of the hearth mistresses had sung a low and sullen song, after which the hunters had boasted of Hadrian’s mentorship and prowess._

_“Tor,” I interrupted. “Where is the Clan? Aren’t they coming?”_

_Tor gazed up at me. I saw two spades and a bucket to his side. He shook his head as if he didn’t comprehend my meaning. He insistently hands me a shovel and gestures for me to dig into the wet earth. I kneel beside him, and for what seems like a few hours, we dig in unison a hole deep enough to lay Hadrian’s body down to rest._

_When we finish, I can hear Tor’s weary voice. “You spend your whole life with someone, and then it comes to burying them. I feel a great loneliness knowing there will be no one to sit beside me when I die. I hope you never know this particular pain.”_

_“I will be there,” I protest. “I will be there with you.”_

_Tor disregards my words as we lower Hadrian’s body into the hole and then cover it with moist ground, occasionally stopping to pack down the dirt tightly. When we finish, Tor drags one of the clan’s small statutes of Fen’Harel, the trickster god, and places it at the top of the mound. It is an old tradition, an almost obsolete one. Still, I remember that Tor insisted as he knew that Hadrian would have enjoyed “the great cosmic joke of a madman’s company in eternity.”_

_Finished, Tor creeps over to the side of the mountain, and I obediently follow after. The setting_ _sky is a flourish of pink and purple. I try to touch Tor’s shoulder again when he faces me with a heartbroken expression._

_“You will not be there when I die,” he sighs. You have left this life, and I do not blame you, but it isn’t yours now.”_

_What can he be_ _talking about? I will be there._

 _“Do you remember,_ da’len, _the winter after Hadrian died when you urged me to return_ _from my grief?”_

_I think for a moment, recalling how Tor had been unwell in the months after. I had to coax him into eating and sleeping. He claimed he could do neither as every morning, as he came to he claimed to have forgotten of Hadrian’s passing only to realize and relive his death again when he remembered. It took several anguished conversations of me, reminding Tor that others needed him before he began to resemble his usual cheerful self._

_“I remember.”_

_“It is my time to say the same to you now. You need to get up and return to the world that you love. Give up your grief for us. For me.”_

_“Up?” I ask carefully, not understanding his meaning._

_“It is time for us to part ways now, my special girl.” He points forward, and a path appears floating over the horizon. “You are needed elsewhere.”_

_I stare at him doubtfully. Doesn’t he need me?_

_“Wake up, Nym!” he commands._

_I begin to walk forward as the landscape dissolves around me. I look back one final time to wave to Tor only to see he too has evaporated into thin air._

\---

  
The smell of mold and dampness pierced my nose. I didn’t know what time it was, but the dark cavern is dark and still. There was no way to know how much time had passed since I fell unconscious. I jumped up on two stiff legs and saw that I was covered in a film of dust that has turned to a foul layer of grubby mud. 

My head throbbed, and I felt a cutting wind hit my skin full force. I was underdressed in leather mage armor, and shivered pathetically in the low temperatures. 

Despite this, I thought of the dream I had, and Tor’s words, and was determined to survive those circumstances. I stumbled forward through the labyrinth. It was a strange place made out of crumbling brick and plaster. The architecture doesn’t appear to be crypts, or purposeful in any way except to offer passage. My feet trudged over the dirt ground. 

When I spotted an opening, at the end of the tunnel, I see nothing but the unchanging expanse of blizzard, I took the decorative scarf I had tied around my neck for the celebration, and swathed around my head in a last-ditch effort to persevere through the freezing sleet as I persisted forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ Yep, Hadrian is the Roman emperor. He might be the emperor I'm most interested in, so the name surfaces in my writing from time to time. 
> 
> \+ Nym won't be injured for a while after this, I promise! 
> 
> +Part of the dream scene, along with Nym rushing out into the danger of Haven, is to show how much she persists and overcomes. She's not weak, and she def. keeps a cool head under pressure. Still, I like to think even if she is more logical, she cares really deeply about others.
> 
> +Also prob should have just re-watched the cut scenes because my version is a little different--oops! I didn't want to introduce Cole until later so let's just call this "canon-flexible" 
> 
> +I have the next chapter almost ready to go. It will be MUCH lighter and less action-packed.


	18. Cole Appears Just in Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nym struggles to survive in the aftermath of her encounter with Corypheus. Cole appears and offers aid. Solas is an awkward egg.

**CHAPTER XVI**

The heavy snowfall instantaneously erased my steps as I trekked forward. My chest painfully heaved cold air as I trudged through the accumulating snowdrifts, which in several areas, reached up to my waist. Frostbite was inevitable if I didn't find shelter soon. A few times, bone-tired, I slunk to the ground battling sleep. I pinched myself, pulled my hair, screamed at the top of my lungs-- _anything_ \--to keep myself awake. I knew that if I dozed off again, it would be a death sentence. 

I would endure. 

The green of the anchor eerily flickered across the snow. Corypheus had addled it when he attempted to remove it from my hand. The effect had proven useful when, on my way navigating Haven's underground tunnels, I had come across a throng of frost demons. Instinctively, I had raised my hands to my face, only for a giant barrage of energy to spurt out of my wrist targeting the creatures. My ears rang as, what felt to me like a vacuum into the Fade, vaporized the demons' bony bodies in a heatless flame. 

The anchor had never done that before.

Its new power could only make me wonder again at its source. Solas had warned me that whatever had caused the Breach had been created by a powerful and ancient device. I thought back to the orb that Corypheus had clutched at as he had picked me up by the arm and hurled me through the air. Identifying that artifact seemed key to solving any mystery around the anchor's purpose or origin. 

I couldn't help but mull over the encounter with the ghastly Darkspawn. How, Corypheus had been waiting to personally ambush me, the entire invasion a set-up. In my haste, I had never considered such an outcome. Even if the battle had been tenuously won, my sense of victory was fleeting. It had been foolish of me to have impulsively rushed out. If, however, my impatience had the fortune to save the Inquisition, it seemed worth the risk. 

I was determined not to be out-maneuvered again. 

Unexpectedly, I heard a rustling to the side of me and looked over. I had expected to see a fennec fox, or even a wolf, only to be surprised to find a ghoulish-looking teenage boy with a choppy haircut standing right in front of me. He was shorter than I by about ahead and wore a strange wide-brimmed hat with a metal crown. He didn't appear malicious, but his uncanny gaze made me nervous. His cloudy eyes looked half-dead but somehow seemed to be all-seeing. Even stranger, the cold didn't seem to affect him even if he was only wearing a thin leather jacket. 

_I must be hallucinating._

"He was furious at you. You probably already know that," The boy said in an odd diction that injected high emotional weight into each word. 

I come to a halt, shivering, wrapping my arms around me trying to conserve warmth, not really sure who, or what, I was speaking with. 

"Do you mean Corypheus?" My reply came out in a whisper, but I was sure that the boy heard me over the howling wind as his eyes widened, and he winced. 

"First, you took his mages, and then you almost took his Templars. The Red Templars went to the Elder One. Blood was everywhere. He was too loud for me, I tried to keep from listening. I wanted to warn you, but the others couldn't see me." 

"Who are you?" I asked. I couldn't make out his cryptic messages _Too loud? The Other's couldn't see me?_ If I had been less tired, or had a staff, I might have cast a defensive spell, but in the cold of the blizzard, I wasn't capable of much. I could only continue to hope the boy intended no ill-will towards me. 

"Rodderick knew the way out. He didn't expect that. It was real for him, remembering that overgrown path all those summers long ago. Finally, her song made sense. Now he is gone…" 

He trailed off before forcefully announcing, "You are going the wrong way!"

"How do you know?" I was confused. 

"They are all waiting for you in the West, but you go East. One, in particular, he paces around the camp avoiding conversation. Wretched, hopeless. He wishes he had told you. He likes the way your hazel eyes flash when you look at him, it reminds him of long ago when he was young and carefree." 

"Solas?" I asked, forgetting the dire surroundings. 

"Is that his name?" The boy muttered as he walked behind me. I turned again to look at what had captured his attention. "My name was Cole once. Perhaps that is the same thing?" 

Before I could answer, he slipped a fur stole around my shoulders, taking the thing out from nowhere, and pointed into the distance behind me. 

"Look,' I followed his gesture, and could make-out smoke rising and the soft glow of campfires. The sight was some leagues away, but if I was expeditious it would be possible to arrive before dawn.

"Thank you, Cole," I said, turning my gratitude meeting an audience of empty air. 

_What an odd encounter._ I thought to myself, rubbing my fingers through the warmth of the fur wrapped around my neck. 

\---

I panted, crawled, and pulled myself over raw rockface. I was thankful that despite the redness of my fingers, they still worked. At one point, I slipped and skinned my knee, and the palm of my hand a few droplets of blood marred the pristine white snow. 

_“Creators_ ," I cursed before rising again. I was determined to make it to the periphery of the camp. I felt more assured of my success as the light of the campfires became clearer. I could hear the movement of the field, tents being set-up, and the calls of frantic soldiers to one another. I counted each step, faltering more as I grew more exhausted. 

When I made it to the very edge, I collapsed, falling first to my knees and then forward, my cheek hitting the snow. _Almost,_ I thought to myself as I began to claw at the ground, determined to pull myself on my stomach if that was what was required when I heard Cullen's voice call out, "It's the Herald." Cassandra echoed his announcement, "Thank the Maker!" 

All around them, voices echoed out, and I could hear the crunch of snow underfoot as boots ran out to regard my crumpled body. My last memory was the sight of Cullen's stubbled jaw when he picked me up, the fur of his cape tickling at my ears as I drifted off in high relief. 

\---

When he saw my eyes open, Solas' face broke into a wild grin. He was so close, I could have effortlessly counted his freckles. I attempted to reach out and cup his cheek in my palm, only to realize that I was tightly swaddled in woolen blankets. 

"You've overcome impossible odds again, _da'len,"_ Solas teased me as he loosened the sheets, allowing me to extract my hands only to see them bound into mittens with fine linen bandages. I tried to wiggle my toes, and felt their movement, too, was restricted. 

I began to focus on his deep voice. I know I wasn't dreaming anymore, but I felt as if I was levitating off the ground, the dimness of the tent was filled miraculously with small flecks of opalescent color that flashed in tiny lights. I was lightheaded but giddy to be safe, and selfishly, in Solas' company. 

With great care, Solas began to unwind the bandages from my hands, before moving down to my feet. "I calmed the anchor while you slept. However, I might ask you to promise to stay out of my sickbed for a year or more," 

"Just your sickbed?" I responded. The uninhibited words came out slurred despite my best efforts. 

I could hear Dorian chuckling in the background. 

Solas snipped, "This is your influence, Mage of Tevinter." 

"I think it is more the pain draughts the healers gave her when you weren't looking."

"Yes…" Solas acknowledged in an annoyed voice, "That was ill-advised." 

I made an attempt to sit-up to have both men rush to push me down into the bedroll. 

"You saved us," Dorian said, "Sleep again, my dear friend, as…"

"Cole. He showed me _here_. Did you find him?" I interrupted dizzily. 

I could see Solas and Dorian exchange perplexed looks with one another. 

I didn't hear their answer, turning over in the roll, collapsing once again into a deep slumber as if I were a candle whose flame was extinguished for the evening. 

\---

A few hours later. I awoke to the silhouette of Solas' head and pointed ear. He had passed out on top of the tent's drop cloth, his hands clutched at his shoulders as if to preserve his warmth. For a few minutes I followed his steady breathing debating if I should wake him. I recalled months, now almost years, ago when Solas' and I had similarly shared the tent in the Fallow Mires, and hesitated. 

Still, that evening seemed like a different life. I remembered, with a flush, his insistent touch in Haven as his fingers traced the curve of my hips. The memory was enough to urge me to reach out to him. Now free of their bindings, my fingers felt desensitized, but the remedies that the healers, or more likely Solas had restored them almost fully. I made contact with the soft woolen knit covering Solas' shoulder. As he felt my touch, he grumbled a bit as he gained his bearings. 

"Nym," Solas said faintly, pulling himself on his elbows closer to me. He looked so tired, and I noticed a cut above his brow, and the subtle outline of hair on his jaw and head. _So he does shave._

I sat up a bit to look around the tent to check if we had an audience. The interior was roomy, and easily could have held four or so or the largest Quniari. Empty potion bottles littered the corner, along with a pile of woolen blankets. Still, I couldn't make out any other person than Solas and myself. We were alone. 

"You are a terrible patient," Solas muttered quietly as his delicate hands pulled me back down. I found myself face-to-face with him again, his nose practically touching mine. His breathing was slow and steady, but his pale eyes were animated as he watched me trace the scratch on his forehead with my low reserve of mana. The skin knitted immediately. 

Before he could scold me for my irresponsibility, I went to silence him with a kiss. Only, I missed his lips entirely, mine awkwardly landing on his cheek. Solas issued a small surprised exhale, and by the time I reached his lips, it was clear he would not reciprocate my gesture. His mouth were drawn in a tight, unyielding line. When I withdrew to look at him, I was perplexed to find his affection melted away into a sad, forlorn expression. 

I had been so happy, after fighting to reunite with the Inquisition, to be with him again. Only to be pushed away yet again. 

He placed his fingers on my mouth as though to stop me. The touch was passionate, tracing the edge of my lips. However, its message was clear, as was the reticence in his worried look. Even if Solas had feelings for me, he seemed determined not to let me in. 

"And my most persistent patient, it seems." He said in an amused yet strained voice.

"Solas?" I said after pushing his hand away. The comment seemed mocking. Even if I knew that wasn't his intention. 

He sighed again. It was a painful sound, and it hurt me as in it, I read his unrest, both his longing for me, and his refusal to give in. I might have cried if I hadn't been so exhausted. I was further bewildered when I felt Solas' arms wrap around me, his fingers weaving through my hair with desperate yearning. _What was this game he played?_

"I am so thrilled you live, _da'len."_ He said in a low gravelly voice as he pushed himself back from me, "Further entanglement, however, is not advised. It would be reckless…"

I turned away from him, not wanting to hear any more of his excuses. Each made me feel more defeated than the next. More defeated than I had felt anytime in the skirmish at Haven. 

Instead, I turned from him with an exasperated huff, refusing to look at his sad expression any more. 

"Nym," he said quietly, his voice heavy with painful regret, _"Ir Abelas_." 

" _Tel Abelas_ ," I responded gruffly.

"I should leave," he whispered before gathering his things, "I'll send Dorian to sit with you. I would feel better if you were not alone after your trek." 

I didn't respond, instead pulling the blankets up over my head as a protective shield. 

He paused before untying the door flap. And announced, "It is my fault entirely, please let me take full responsibility..." 

\---

Dorian arrived a few minutes later, and despite his kind prodding I was not forthcoming about what had passed between Solas and I. Instead of pushing me to talk about the situation, he took out a battered copy of _Hard in Hightown._

"Some light reading, perhaps?" Dorian asked me, flopping down on his back beside me, "I'll read to you if you like?" 

"Where did you find such a thing?" I asked Dorian, confused that he would think to grab such a frivolous thing in the chaos of the evening. I didn't take him to be a fan of pulp literature. 

"It was the oddest thing," Dorian said, twirling his mustache. I tripped and fell on my way over to your tent, and there the book was, sitting on the ground with no one to claim it. I thought the hobo-apostate looked a little downcast, and I thought you might need some cheering up…" 

"Thank you, Dorian," I said. 

"Oh my little elf kitten, I'm so glad you made it back to us." 

"…. _elf kitten? "_ I squealed, throwing a pillow at my friend. "How does that make any sense?" 

\---

In the next few days, I mostly avoided Solas. The incident in the tent had embarrassed me, and even if I sometimes caught him looking at me with a mournful expression, I didn't feel very obliged to give him any of my attention. Fortunately, there was much to do in the camp. When I was finally able to walk around, I made sure to go from person-to-person and check on the huddled groups that grieved the loss of their home. For some it was the first they had ever had. 

It had been lucky that we had recruited the mages, as they had quickly taken to task healing any of the injured, and setting up elemental wards around the camp. Fiona had come to find me as soon as possible to gave me an update on morale. "The mages are readying to leave if we can't locate a new camp soon." 

It was precisely what I didn't want to hear. 

The council was further conflicted. Josephine and Cullen constantly fought, while Cassandra and Leliana taciturnly watched from the sidelines. For a few evenings, all I could do was cross my arms and observe the unraveling of what had been, days ago, one of the greatest military and political machines in the history of Thedas. 

It was Mother Giselle, who unexpectedly brought us back together. Leading the camp in a rousing hymn with words I didn't know, and only muttered along to half-heartedly as it was Andrastian. It wasn't that I felt a betrayal of my beliefs by participating. No, I wasn't ready to feel hopeful as the lyrics asked of its singer. Particularly when I glimpsed a certain apostate mage aloofly observing in the shadows.

\---

I looked over what seemed like endless mountain ridges. Scouts had visited Haven, and just brought back the news that the town would not be inhabitable for a few years, if ever. There would be no return. Still, we were lucky to have escaped. Casualties, while devastating at any number, were lower than expected. If we could find a new home, it would be possible to survive. What seemed impossible, however, was finding a place with the required defenses to repeal another attack from Corypheus and his Archdemon. 

I was startled when I heard familiar steps behind me. I didn't need to turn to know it was Solas. The scent of cedarwood and cinnamon was strong in the air. 

“The other night,” he said, breaking the silence between us, “ I wanted to say…” 

I flushed again recalling how Solas' rejection had made me feel. I didn’t want to think about it anymore. I had decided to move on from the encounter. Whatever game we were playing wasn’t something I wanted to spend more time on. I needed to move on. I had to think of the Inquisition. 

“No,” I said, cutting him off again. 

“Nym, it was…” 

“Enough,” I raised my hand to stop him from progressing further. 

He nodded in assent. Clearly, pained that I didn't allow him to continue. 

"Then let me change the subject.” 

“Perhaps later." 

“I know of a place," he said when I turned to walk away,. "Tarasyl' an Te' las." 

Despite my anger, I couldn't resist translating the name out loud, "The place where the sky is held back." Even I had heard of the ancient castle located between Orlais and Fereldan. Looking over a pass, it had been originally a site of Elvhen pilgrimage, later converted by the Dwarves for trade, and then humans. Why had no one thought of it? 

"Or as it is more commonly known, Skyhold." he continued on pedantically, "The item you described Corypheus holding. It is an ancient Elvhen foci, you'll need a fortress. One that can't be penetrated by his forces or an Archdemon." 

I turned to look at him, curiously for the first time. I met two hopeful blue eyes staring back at me. I continued, however, to scowl. 

"Please," his voice was sad, "Scout to the North, three days ride from here, the fortress waits for a force to hold it, the Inquisition--your Inquisition--can grow." 

His face was tense, and his hand nervously clutched at his strange jawbone necklace. I had never seen him so skittish in my presence. 

" _Ma serannas,_ _hahren_ ," I said carefully to keep a disgruntled edge to my voice. I was still not ready to forgive him. "May I walk with you for a bit _da'len?_ There is much to discuss, as I mentioned the foci is Elvhen…" He offered me his arm, as he so often did to be polite.

I accepted his arm and allowed him to accompany back to the camp, his hand sometimes reaching out to pull me gently out of the way of a supply cart or open a tent flap for me to pass through first. _“It would be better this way,”_ I thought to myself as we went from place-to-place to inform the others of our plan. 

Then what was that feeling of grief I had pounding in my chest? _I would have to swallow it._

  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ I know that the way Cole appears is not canon, but I'm going to tweak some of his earlier interactions with the Inquisition. Hopefully it works!
> 
> \+ Also if it isn't obvious, Cole left the book for Dorian to find for Nym. 
> 
> \+ I wanted to make sure it wasn't just Solas rejecting Nym as that would be lousy power dynamics. For two smart people they are super bad at communicating with one another! (Just to be clear, at the end he was about to confess his feelings & apologize...so he's still not got a good look, but also Nym is being churlish). 
> 
> \+ Finally to Skyhold next chapter! 
> 
> +Thank you again to everyone still reading.


	19. Skyhold At Last!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nym is named the Inquisitor, Solas and her reconcile a bit (with a very lore heavy conversation.

**CHAPTER 17**

The bards say that Andruil went mad from desire. A few moments after she met Ghilan'nain, the Elvhen goddess laid divinity down at the mortal huntress' feet. It is said of Asha'bellanar, the woman of many years, that she was so enraged when her lover was slaughtered that she brought down an entire kingdom with a single wave of her hand. I understand that the history behind these stories is somewhat more complicated, but these myths resonate with me. Perhaps now more than ever. 

What songs will be written on about my life? 

A few weeks after we arrived at Skyhold, I was named Inquisitor. I was no longer a Dalish elf caught in strange circumstances, but the one who was leading our cause forward. There was a short ceremony, Cassandra and Lelianna handed me a sword that weighed more than I did. Spirits were high in the courtyard, everyone that had gathered were so happy for a celebration after so much tragedy that if they noticed I couldn't raise the weapon over my head, and merely leaned on it, they said nothing. A kindness I appreciated. 

"The Inquisition is for all!" I yelled out at the top of my lungs. "Together, we will defeat Corypheus!" 

Everyone cheered. 

Let me be honest. I am unsure if the story I am telling is of me as the Inquisitor or simply as a woman in love. The titles and my person have blurred over the years. I am called so many things: Nym of the Dalish, Inquisitor Lavellan, and the Herald of Andraste. 

Who was I to Solas? 

It would be naive of me to claim that parts of the love story between us were not based on the power of the Inquisition. Solas' intervention and deliverance of Skyhold changed the course of the organization's history. The influence that we derived--and in turn that I derived--from holding the castle is unquestionable. Even if he never explicitly claimed it as such, the knowledge he gave me of Skyhold's location and availability was something of a gift. I can't say I understood all of his motivations, but it was clear the offer was genuine.

What made it difficult, however, was that it was more than power that drew Solas and me together. I think this is what made it so hard for us to stay apart. After our awkward encounter the night after escaping Haven, I was ready to put the attraction behind me. I thought it would be more comfortable. Only, this assumption on my part was a bit naive as we quickly reverted to old habits. Despite my anger as the whole Inquisition set about to renovate the fortress, here and there was a stray touch, a lingering look (as Vivienne would describe it), or an excuse to sit next to each other at the communal meals. Those small gestures accumulated like droplets in a cup, eventually running over. 

\---

The evening after the ceremony, Josephine had assembled what she could for a party. Working with Krem and the Chargers to miraculously salvage a couple barrels of ale. Along with a few bottles of moonshine and several questionable combined flasks, some unleavened bread, and dried jerky, the Inquisition had a simple, but raucous evening ahead. Aware of my new responsibilities, I circulated through the room, attempting to thank and welcome everyone who had gathered. A gesture I had observed from Tor, who stressed the importance of checking-in on every Clan member at meals and gatherings as a way to bring the community together. 

It was exhausting. I hadn't expected the intensity of the conversations, or more accurately, what I should say when one young woman gushed at me, or a soldier asked me how to get news to his family. Others still, traumatized by the events at Haven, broke down in my arms. I knew that each had turned to me for solace, and I did the best I could to comfort them, but by the end of the night, as the drinking increased, and the off-tune singing began, I took the opportunity to slip out the side door and into the garden for a breath of air. 

The garden had grown wild and fallow. Unruly vines curled up the sides of the castle brick-work in dark clumps. A light dusting of snow covered the ground. It was fresh, but the cool air felt refreshing rather than chilly. I walked among the fallen stones, jumping over fallen tree limbs. It felt good to be outside and anonymous amongst the weeds. 

As I weaved in and out amidst the overgrown bushes and decaying trellises, I thought of my life with my Clan and how I had spent most nights sleeping outdoors under the stars. Momentarily, I felt tempted to find a spare bedroll and throw it down on the ground here for the night. Only the impulse made me realize how much I had changed.

It was a bittersweet feeling. I wasn't as strongly homesick and didn't find the rituals amongst the Inquisition to be so frequently strange or confusing. I even had come to love many in the Inquisition as I had in my Clan. Only, while I hoped to one day reunite with Clan Lavellan, I knew it would never be my whole life again. I was too different a person. 

It would take time, however, to learn who I was as the Inquisitor. 

As I rounded another corner, I was surprised to come upon Solas standing in the middle of an opening in the bushes, staring up at the sky. His arms were crossed, and he had one handheld up to his lips, as was his usual pose when in deep contemplation. I attempted to suppress my admiration at the way his body swayed under the sliver of moonlight. It appeared as if he was dancing to the movements of the stars while he read them. I was torn if I should approach him or not. Instead, I froze like a halla in the field, when the sound of my footsteps drew him to look my way. 

"Nym," he greeted me. His voice was heedful and restrained. It was the first time we had been alone since the awkward encounter in Haven and, judging by his taut jawline; he was picking his words carefully. "I am afraid that as usual, I found the party tiring, and thought I would get a breath of fresh air." 

I didn't respond initially. I wasn't willing to pretend I wasn't unhappy with the current situation between us. My face flushed at the memory of Solas' rejection merged with the sensation of his fingers threaded through my hair. The encounter still confused me, and I was processing how to put it behind me. 

"The stars are brilliant this evening." Solas continued steadily. "It is clear enough to see several constellations that usually remain hidden behind clouds." 

I gave him a reproachful look. I was intrigued and unwilling to retreat indoors, but unsure about how to balance my anger at him with my curiosity. 

"Are you returning to the party?" He asked with a voice tinged with sadness. 

I shook my head, "I also needed a breath of air." 

"I…" He trailed off. "I wanted to say--to say _congratulations_ on becoming the Inquisitor. It has been so long since one of the People has been held in such esteem."

"Thank you, Solas," I said in a clipped voice. 

I don't bother to add any term of endearment or title. I walked up towards Solas, with what Dorian would later irreverently (and somewhat nonsensically) call my "Hurlock-general-attending--an-Archdemon strut," The aggressive stance seemed to surprise him, and his eyes widened as I brushed past him and sunk onto a nearby stone bench. It was old and broken, and I could feel the weeds growing over it, poking into my thighs. Still, I was tired. I put my heads into my hands and exhaled. The breath came out more like a groan, as if the whole weight of my new responsibilities were surfacing for the first time. 

"Are you alright, _da'len?"_ Solas asked quietly. I could see from the corner of my eye that he raised his hand to comfort me, only to set it down again promptly. 

I met his gaze for the first time to see him staring back, his pale-blue eyes sympathetic. As the Inquisition had taken to renovating Skyhold, I had realized during several tense moments mediating conflicts between Cassandra and Varric how much I had relied on Solas' counsel. I had missed freely speaking with him as I debated the right action forward. Unlike many, he never took such conversations as an invitation to tell me what he thought I should do. 

"I don't know what to say sometimes. One woman burst into tears and embraced me and told me she was forced to watch a Red Templar repeatedly stab her husband. I didn't have the words, so I held her until she stopped sobbing." 

Tears were brimming in my eyes as I thought about her sadness and I wrapped my hands around myself. The air was starting to feel cold, and I was shivering fiercely. 

"Perhaps there isn't a right thing," Solas reassured me. "It will become easier with time. Although circumstances forced you to take this role on, you have earned it from your efforts the right to lead the fight against Corypheus." 

"Here, take this, _da'len_." He offered as he smoothly removed his fur-lined vest and held it out for me. I noticed that he didn't slip it around my shoulders. A part of me wanted him too, and then to lean up against his chest in comfort. Instead, I took the jacket and put it on over my shoulders. The soft fur on the inside was warm, as was the leftover heat from his body that, from my few interactions, seemed to always run at a higher than usual temperature. 

"Thank you, _hahern,"_ I replied politely. A few tears flowed down my face, and I quickly brushed them away. I sighed after, looking up again at the sky. He caught me gazing at the heavens, and a concerned look flashing over his face. 

"Do you know that constellation?" He asked kindly, pointing up to a cluster which was isolated in the sky, low on the horizon. 

I squinted, looking at the few lonely stars, making out a familiar symbol. 

" _Visus,_ The _Watchful Eye,"_ I said, looking at the sigil embroidered on a flag in the center of the overrun garden. The Inquisition had taken the symbol as its sigil. I hadn't given it much thought, considering that the meaning behind it was Andrastian. 

"I've always found it peculiar that the Seekers of Truth took the eye, and the Templars the sword as their sigil." 

"Why?" I asked, running my hands over the soft lining of his vest. I enjoyed how it smelled like him, dried lavender, and cedarwood, along with other earthy ingredients he carried with him in his healer's pack. 

"Before the stories of Andraste, it is said that the eye led the early humans of Southern Thedas to the safety of the Frostback mountains. Surely, a story borrowed from the ancient Elvhen, as it is said that those who walked the Dirth'ena _Ensalin,_ used it as their symbol to guide their mission to serve and protect elves in the Dales." 

"Dirth'ena _Ensalin?"_ I fumbled over the words. They sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite place the meaning. 

"It means 'knowledge that leads to victory.' The idea that the mind can shape the body into the perfect weapon. It was the philosophy of the Arcane Warriors, now called Knight Enchanters. Another story lost to time." 

"I've never heard of the Arcane Warriors…" I said absently, Looking at the constellation, thinking over Solas' words

”Very few have. There aren't many mages that can balance casting magic with melee attacks. Or perhaps it isn't ability but bravery that is at the root of it." 

"Vivienne is a Knight Enchantress, if I understand correctly." I had always admired the way she fought in battle. She was always daring, running right up to her foe, and summoning a blade out of her mana, landing strategic blows while also diverting energy to her barrier. It was flashy but effective. 

"She is. It fits her _ruthlessness_..." Solas trailed off, and his face looked a little bitter, thinking of the strong-minded mage. "It is odd sometimes how coincidences take shape, how legends are forgotten, and then appropriated and reshaped like old steel. The Inquisition logo, the sword, and the eye, it reminds me of you. You have a fine mind and are fearless. Both compel you." 

I hummed a bit thinking over his words, I muttered a thank you, and my heart was pounded in my chest like a war drum. The air was crisp, and I looked over to see him staring intently at me. It was the old look, one full of meaning that I wished would evaporate unsaid. I stuttered, trying to change the subject, I was determined to hold those feelings at bay. 

"Leliana wants to convert this area into a prayer garden. She thinks that Skyhold will become a pilgrimage site, and that will help strengthen trade routes." 

"What are your thoughts on that?" 

"I haven't considered the plan much until sitting here right now. It seems like we could use this space for other things, like an herb garden, for instance. We are always short on medicinal ingredients, and this place seems like a fitting place to fill that need." 

"There was an old saying in Elvhen that healers have the bloodiest hands. You are compassionate, yet forced into a life of violence. It makes sense to me that you'd take an interest in such things." 

"It seems Ancient Elvhanan is the topic of the evening." I teased. "I wasn't aware we were at an Orlesian poetry salon. We should have invited Josephine." Solas seemed relieved that I was ready to joke with him once again, his face relaxed and his broad shoulders. He leaned back against the edge of the bench as if he were light as a feather. 

"I don't mean to go on so much about the past. It seems we have a bright future thanks to your efforts at Haven. That should be the focus tonight." 

"I think I was more lucky than anything else when I confronted Corypheus. I should have taken your advice about not rushing into fade rifts." 

Solas chuckled. "Perhaps. I might recommend that as the best practice going forward. I was hot-headed when I was younger. I can assure you that it never worked out well." 

"Oh," I raised an eyebrow, "That is the one ancient story I'd like to hear tonight, _hahern._ Please, as a favor to your _da'len_ , tell me of what you did when you were my age." 

He laughed good-naturedly, with a slight hitch in his breath. " _Stop flirting,"_ a voice in my head echoed. Still, I couldn't help but sigh inwardly at how handsome I found him, or the deepening of his laugh lines around his bright eyes. 

"Perhaps another time. The hour is late, and I expect that your entourage more than notes your absence. May I accompany you back to the party?" 

I yawned, girding myself to go back to the event. I expected that most of the remaining party-goers were quite intoxicated, and assumed most of the Chargers to be leading a rousing sing-a-long. Also, if I guessed correctly, it was the hour in which Varric would have inevitably started a long and complicated game of Wicked Grace. 

" _Please_ ," I said, taking the arm he offered me. "How do you feel about winning a little gold at cards this evening?" 

"I would be honored, Inquisitor," Solas said, emphasizing my new title playfully as he opened the door for me to walk back into the hall. True enough, we found Varric engaged in a long game of Diamondback, and perhaps as a result of sobriety, Solas and I teamed up to win from him and Blackwall a small pile of sovereigns each. 

Only Dorian had noticed my absence and looked quizzically at the leather vest I was wearing, pointing out me the next morning over breakfast that it was several sizes too large for me, and that it was "interesting that I had neglected to return it to the hobo-apostate until the next morning.”

I had protested, pointing out that it was nearly dawn by the time the event was over. I had stumbled up to my room, "forgetting" to take the item off. The truth is that when I had made it to my bed I had only nestled the vest up to my cheek, deeply breathing Solas' scent in as I fell asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ Some of the lore here is correct, other parts were bent a bit. A big thanks to the folks who update, contribute to, and manage dragonage.fandom.com where I looked up most of the conversations regarding the constellation. (The part of the knight enchanters is not canon but the rest of it is). 
> 
> \+ This is a really heavy dialogue chapter (sorry), but I wanted to establish that Solas has a high level of respect for Nym after such disastrous flirting results. 
> 
> \+ I also view this as a sort of transition to a new part of the story, Nym's no longer young and manages to lead the organization pretty competently except for her weakness for a certain Hahren so I thought it was important to pause here and for the next few chapters to see how some of the dynamics are changing 
> 
> +I have the next chapter almost ready to go. I'm stepping away from the romance a bit and going to introduce Cole (more officially), and spend some more time with Dorian. There are so many characters in this game that I want to try and work a bit of each of them into this fanfic! It might be impossible. (P.S. If you have a certain quest you'd like to see appear--let me know--depending I might be able to incorporate it). 
> 
> \+ Big thank you to everyone reading and commenting. I try to respond to everyone that leaves a note, but right now in quarantine I can't tell you how much it means to have a project that (hopefully) brings a small amount of joy to Solasmancers around the globe.


	20. The Forgotten Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cole surfaces and reveals the secrets of solas’ heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working hard to produce content for these strange quarantine times.

**CHAPTER 18**

I hadn't forgotten about the boy who had directed me in the storm. I wasn't sure who, or more precisely what, I had encountered. Or, even if I had invented Cole's appearance. I had searched for the fur stole that he had given me in the blizzard to confirm that I had not been hallucinating. When I asked Dorian and Solas about it, however, neither could I remember if I had such a thing on my body. Dorian thought he had seen me wearing the scarf, but couldn't be sure as the moment I was rescued the healers sent off all of my salvageable blood-stained battle gear immediately for cleaning and repair. 

Reports around the Skyhold trickled in about a boy appearing out of nowhere to offer aid only to vanish afterwards. The description of a blonde-haired boy in a strange hat led me to believe that Cole was real, or at least an actual presence of sorts. Several groundskeepers claimed to find a ghost sweeping up piles of leaves, repairing the walls, or mopping a floor until it shone. When they approached the phantom, they'd find only a broom or bucket. Some would remember a boy. Others who had been present, said that the account had to be false, as no one had been there in the first place. As the weeks went on, "little miracles" as the new quartermaster referred to such instances as occurred across Skyhold in increasing intervals. When supplies were missing, or even unavailable, sometimes they would appear without explanation; a cluster of elfroot at a healer's side, for example, or fresh milk in the kitchens. 

I hadn't seen any incidents first hand until one morning exercising with Cassandra in the morning yard (as became our habit for years) when she had found one of her favorite swords after thinking it had been lost forever. When she stumbled upon it tucked behind the weapons rack, she had exuberantly yipped. I found her kneeling, uncharacteristically emotional, running her fingers along the hilt. "Justinia gave it to me when I became her right hand," she said, looking up to me as if she had been struck by lightning, "I thought it lost in Haven, but perhaps I misplaced it. Perhaps this was the sword I fought with when we fled...I can't remember?" 

It wasn't long after that I would find out who Cole was. 

\---

One morning as I walked down the stairs of Skyhold's front entrance, I found Blackwall waiting for me in the front hall. He was slumped against the stone wall, waiting for me to make my way out for my rounds that day to check on the progress of renovations. 

"Come, let's walk the ramparts," He implored me while stroking his bushy beard. "I want to examine the fortifications." 

I did as he asked, and for the next hour, we climbed up the rugged steps around the circuit of the outer walls. In one area, Blackwall had to pull me up over a section of a caved-in roof. "Nothing Cullen can't figure out," he assured me with a slap on the back when I made a strained face thinking over the small number of resources we had available to us and how many would be necessary for repairs. 

"Good," Blackwall boomed when we finished. "We'll be able to see Corypheus coming from miles away." 

We paused, overlooking the most massive courtyard that had been converted into a medical field. As time elapsed, there were fewer patients needing treatment. Or, those who had fared worse but somehow managed to pull through. The moans of the injured seemed to jog Blackwall's memory of Haven. 

"We lost good soldiers, loyal men and women. Even if I have to die to do it, I will kill that bastard." He threw a fist into an outstretched palm as if to make right on the promise. 

I put my hand on his arm, squeezing it in appreciation as he beamed at me. He had always been one of my biggest supporters amongst the group. 

"Thank you, Blackwall." 

"Despite it all, you bring others hope. People believe in you--I have to ask, now while I have the chance, are you what they say you are?" 

"An elf?" I goaded him, rubbing my fingers over my pointed ears to demonstrate. 

"The Herald of Andraste?" He gestured emphatically as if such a question was obvious. 

"I don't know, honestly." I sighed. I knew he wanted to believe, but I still did not believe in divine intervention. "There is so much I don't remember. I am skeptical, but who is to say?" 

I couldn't tell if Blackwall was satisfied with the answer. He squinted, looking up at the sun and turned to leave. 

"Look, I don't want to waste your time," he said as if he had suddenly recalled a forgotten piece of information, "I better be off to put a report together for Cullen." 

A flash of light against the wall made me turn one final time to look down at the courtyard catching a glimpse of what looked like the crown of the strange metal hat that the boy called Cole had been wearing the night of the blizzard. 

When I blinked, all I saw was an evergreen bush. 

\---

Cullen was standing at the bottom of the steps, hunched over a table of schematics and ledgers. I enjoyed talking with the Commander, but found it uneasy at times. Even though we had worked closely together for a few years, it was clear that I still made him nervous. I was gentle with him, knowing that he was a man that was both principled and kind.

"Cullen," I said, walking slowly to stand on the other side of his table. When I approached him, I saw him peak at me and immediately slouch back to sort his papers. 

"We set up as best as we could at Haven," he said, not meeting my gaze. "There was no way to prepare for what came. Who could have expected an Archdemon? This time will be _different_ , I have ensured the guard rotations are established--that we have secured supply routes." 

Standing across the table from Cullen, I was worried about him, especially seeing his blood-shot and weary eyes. His robust form, the product of extensive military training, had withered away a bit. His shoulders, still strong, slumped a bit underneath the fur cloak he always wore in the cold mountain air. 

"Have you gotten any sleep, Cullen?" I asked considerately. 

"I---" His voice trailed off as he put his hand to the back of his head as he often did when he was nervous. 

"How many were lost?" I asked low enough so casual passers-by wouldn't hear. 

"Most of our people made it to Skyhold. Still, we lost a fair number. Morale was low but has improved greatly since you took on the role of Inquisitor." 

"Thank you, Cullen, our escape from Haven...it was close." I placed my hand on his shoulder in a sincere effort to reassure him that his hard work was appreciated. "I was relieved that you--so many made it out." 

"As am I," Cullen responded in quiet lingering words that made my face flush. "You stayed behind; you could have…" 

He never finished his sentence stumbling into the table, accidentally knocking over several piles of his papers that fell to the ground. I bent over to pick one up, as did he, and when we both returned them to the table, all of his documents were carefully organized as if they had never been ruffled. 

"Did you use magic…?" Cullen asked me nervously. 

"No," I shrugged. "Maybe less fell off than we thought?" 

Again my eyes wandered off, catching a flash of movement, as if I was being watched from one of the bushes by a small boy. When I looked back again, there was no one there.

"Sorry, Cullen, let's talk later…" I waved and turned to follow after the fluttering shape. 

\---

Before I could finish making my way down to the bottom of the courtyard, I was stopped by a very disgruntled Sera who yammered on non-stop with little room for me to respond, "So Inquisitor--it is Inquisitor right now? Remember that war you talked about stopping full of little baddies that I can stick with little arrow's?" 

_Behind her, I could see the shape of a boy, seemingly made out of shadow, evaporating, and re-forming. He was jumping from patient to patient, sometimes wiping a brow with a cool cloth, or appearing to lean down and murmur something to one of the convalescing soldiers._

Sera continued without taking a breath, "That's not a freaking Archedemon, is it?" 

I was only half-listening. 

_I could see Cassandra trampling over with a cautious looking Solas to point at the boy who stopped what he was doing and squatted down next to them watching as the two began to argue._

"Yes, go on, "I replied, focusing on her angry monologue again, "Corypheus was a surprise." 

"No!" Sera dramatically sighed as if I had said something incomprehensible, "A surprise would be, Oh--I stepped in a pile of dog shite!" 

_Sera spoke nonsense at an increasing speed, which allowed me to peek behind her again. Vivienne had joined the conversation. The regal woman slammed her staff on the ground in emphasis as she spoke. The haughtier her expression became, the more smug Solas became as they appeared to trade heated jabs._

"Nym, _"_ Sera scowled, snapping her fingers. "Are you listening to me?" 

"I'm sorry, Sera, please, go on--I can't help you, however, if you don't explain what you are concerned about." 

Placated Sera continued exuberantly, stopping so often to dramatically sigh, "It's got to be nonsense, don' it? We're kind of screwed if it isn't. I mean this Corphy-thingy--a magister! Right, the story he cracked the Golden City. But that's a hazy dream, but if not, the seat of the Maker real thing. A seat needs a book, so the Maker, real thing. Fairy stories about the start and the end of the world, real things!" 

She stopped her monologue, looking at me expectantly with a terrified expression. I still wasn't entirely sure what she wanted to hear from me, but wanted to try and offer words that might allow our relationship to grow considering how it was often strained. 

"Err, keep calling it nonsense, that perspective will keep the Inquisition grounded."

_I saw Cassandra, Vivienne, and Solas stand in a tighter circle around the boy who was ignoring the whole proceeding, his body starting to flicker in and out in the atmosphere. Vivienne and Solas were locked in an intense stare as Cassandra paced around them like an angry panther._

"Excuse me, Sera," when I could make the sound of yelling," Drinks later? On me? I have to go check on that." 

"Right, oh…" 

Judging from the disappointment in her voice, I'd be buying several rounds to mollify her. 

\---

I joined the conversation just as the shouting began in earnest. 

"This thing is not a stray puppy you can keep," Vivienne sneered at Solas. 

"Wouldn't you say the same of an apostate?" Solas accused her, defensively putting his arms up

Cassandra took me aside and quietly explained, "Inquisitor, I wondered if, this boy who calls himself Cole was perhaps a mage given his abilities…" 

"He can cause people to forget him or cause people to fail to notice him. These are not the abilities of the mage. It seems that Cole is a spirit." 

"it is a demon," Vivienne yelled out behind him. 

"If you prefer," Solas continued, "Although the truth is somewhat more complex." 

"I'm not sure how much more complexity I need Solas." I sighed, waving my hand at him indifferently as if batting away a fly. _I wasn't talking about Cole._

"Well said," Vivienne shouted in the background. 

"Speak plainly, Solas," Cassandra groaned. 

"He is a spirit of compassion," Solas said, turning to look at the three women who looked at him with varying annoyed expressions. "And he is unique. Not summoned, but a spirit that has walked out of the Fade assuming human form. Nothing--or more accurately no one--has existed in such a state. More than that, I understand he wishes to help. It would be my suggestion that you allow him to do so." 

I crossed my arms deep in thought. Solas and I had spoken about spirits before. Cole, in some ways, frightened me. I had dreams that had been precarious in my life and generally did not trust the words of spirits. All mages had. I did not claim to understand the Fade with the same intimacy that Solas did, but I knew Cole's actions to be kind. After witnessing the violence at Haven, I couldn't see any disadvantages in welcoming an entity whose goal was guided by compassion.

_He would stay if I had my way._

I squatted down next to Cole, whose feet seemed to flicker somehow in and out of the mud as if he was not wholly a concrete person. In the sun his skin looked more sallow and frightening, his eyes more like a corpse than a human, but his animated movements were in contradiction to anything that might be dead. 

"Was it you who helped me in the storm?" I gently whispered as I might to a child--I wasn't sure exactly what tone of voice to use on a spirit. "I appreciated your help, and you left before I could thank you," 

He nodded solemnly. "I learned how to be more like what I am. It made me different but stronger. I can feel more. I can help." 

"Would you like to join the Inquisition, Cole?" I said as he looked away, preoccupied with one of the men who was groaning in the distance. 

"He's suffering." he said, ignoring my question, "I want to help." 

"What are you doing?" I asked curiously, careful not to let the panic seep into my voice. I followed him as he sat down next to one of the men lying on the ground underneath a makeshift tent. I could hear him softly speaking to himself, "The cuts wreck me. Hot white pain. Everything burns. I can't--I can't-- I'm going to die." 

He looked at me and announced. "Dead" 

"You can feel the hurt?" I asked. He ignored me continuing onto the next of the wounded. I had heard of him from Cullen's morning report, the unfortunate recipient of a gut wound that had festered the longer we traveled. It would take hours, maybe days for him to succumb. Still, there was some hope if the mages found the right supplies. His eyes were clenched tightly in potion-aided sleep, every so often a distressing groan escaping his lips. 

"Maker Please," Cole narrated, clutching a knife, "It will take him hours to die, every moment an agony. He wants mercy. He wants help." 

He raised the knife as if to plunge it down into the man's chest with a strategic strike. 

"You have to give him a chance," I said gently, softly touching his wrist and holding out my hand for him to pass me his weapon, which he did without protest. "He could still make it, and we can't know now. Does that make sense to you, Cole?" 

He nodded, "I want to join the Inquisition. I want to stay and help you." 

It was enough for me. 

"Cole stays," I declared to the others. "I can't say that I understand him entirely, but I do not think he means us harm. It would benefit us all, I think, to have more compassion here, anyway..." 

I stared at Solas when I said the last bit. Although things had improved between the two of us, I was still gripped by anger. 

"You must be joking," Vivienne barked before fade-stepping off into the distance. 

Cassandra stomped off without a word, and I was left with Solas, who was giving me an odd look, his lips pursed. "You made a wise choice." 

I ignored him. I didn't need his approval. 

"Come, Cole, I know a room where you can stay. Perhaps we can find you some extra...clothes?" He didn't seem to smell or care about the state of his appearance, but his outfit was a little worse for wear, and I suspected if he wore something a little less ragged, it might help him be more accepted by the others.

"They come off?" he said curiously, looking himself over. 

I sighed, unsure what sort of commitment I had just made in allowing the spirit to join the Inquisition. He had already charmed me, but I knew it would be a lot of adjustment for all involved, especially as welcoming Cole to the Inquisition seemed to have inadvertently given me the added responsibility of teaching an unprecedented entity the finer details of living amongst the living creatures of Thedas. 

As we turned the corner, out of earshot of others, he tugged on the sleeve of my jacket insistently until I stopped and hunched down for him to whisper into my ear. 

"He thinks about what wouldn't have happened if the old hurt hadn't surfaced, and he is sorry about pushing you away. Your lips red like peonies, full of yearning. He wishes you weren't angry anymore." 

"Oh, Cole," I said kneeling. He put his hand on my shoulder and a calming wave radiates outward from the spot where it lay. "I wish it were that simple." 

"I can help." He said earnestly. 

"You have, I promise," I responded, taking him by his hand to lead him over to the Tavern making a mental note that I'd need to introduce the concept of boundaries sooner rather than later. " _Listen, Cole; I think you'll like this spot. It's out of the way, but you'll be able to keep watch on the place. You can help me by making sure that the Iron Bull and Varric don't embarrass themselves from drinking too much…"_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter (no spoilers!) will be a big one. Get ready!


	21. Walks in the Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas comforts Nym. They go to Fade Haven. (You know what follows!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: descriptions of violence

**CHAPTER 19**

At last, Solas and I kissed. 

\---

I was assigned the largest private chamber in Skyhold. At first, I had protested, believing it to be wasteful for so much space would be allocated to one person. Josephine and Leliana insisted on it, arguing the privilege to be conducive to my title. Within a week, I moved into the space, filled with salvaged tapestries and furniture. Instead of finding a refuge, my bed-chamber felt more like a prison. Whenever I closed my eyes to sleep, I could recall with perfect clarity the brutality of the Red Templars. No matter what I tried, I could picture every moment I had witnessed in the battle of the corrupted knight's thuggish hacking, sawing, and battering. As the days wore on, I considered it lucky if I managed a few hours of restless sleep. 

I hadn't expected to feel so affected by the experience as I was not a stranger to violence. At the age of twelve, I killed my first man. A human thief had spotted me hiding amongst the brush to hunt small games with the other Dalish hunters. When the scoundrel grabbed me from behind, I was overwhelmed by his sour smell of whiskey and fetid breath. 

"Tell me knife-ear," he grunted, "Any gold on you? Tell me, or I'll cut your ears off."

As if to make good on the threat, I could feel steel pressed against my ear, the edge of the blade slicing, just barely, at the tip. Fear paralyzed my body as I couldn't try and appease him, given how tightly his other hand wrapped around my mouth. 

Only he hadn't expected to take hostage a mage. Why would he? Most humans, after all, assumed that the circle confined anyone with magical abilities. For their protection, as much as for those without such capabilities. 

Unfortunately for the man, before he could push his blade any further into me, I had summoned lightning to my fingertips, allowing the electricity to build as a spark, and then as a more massive pulse. The scent of his fried flesh filled my nostrils as he sputtered from my touch. He was dead by the time he fell to the ground. the spell caused his corpse to thrash like a worm. When I looked down at his face, for the first time, his eyes had exploded in their sockets, and his tongue poked out of his pock-marked face looking like a featherless bird who had fallen from their nest too young. 

Although the thief had been my captor, I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. His body was bone-skinny, his hair mangy and dirty. Whatever crime he had attempted was the act of a desperate man, whether he was the victim of circumstances or the outcome of his own poor choices. I wasn't sorry about defending myself, but I felt dumbfounded by the fact that I had killed a man with my bare hands. It was a complicated truth for me to reconcile that I was so capable of doing so in a matter of minutes. 

Summoned by the noise, Hadrian had found me shortly after, weeping over the pitiable thief, and put his arms around me as I hyperventilated in the aftermath of the encounter. 

"Oh my little one," he consoled me as I wrapped my arms around his neck. "It was necessary to protect yourself." 

"I didn't mean to," I kept sobbing into his chest, his Dalish armor rough against my cheek. 

"That is the difference between you and him." Hadrian had counseled me, "You are too kind to harm another willfully. That is a virtue." 

I had killed again, many times protecting myself in battle, or the Inquisition. Yet each time I look a life it was, as Hadrian had wisely said that day, out of a measure to safeguard from further harm. 

The Red Templars, however, were different. I think this is what frightened me about the most. Instead of defending themselves, each encounter was one of prolonged brutality. Nor did they seem to take joy in the violence, as some do. Each time, the bloodshed seemed automatic, without feeling or remorse. It didn't matter to them if they struck a limb or vital vein. Rather, the song of the Elder One propelled them forward. Who was Corypheus to allow such things to honor his name?

\---

Eventually, one night, I grew so tired of my mind wondering about terrible memories like a hen desperately pecking at feed, that I got out of bed, pulled on some clothes, and decided to walk around the grounds thinking that fresh air might clear my head. I crept down the gloomy flights of stairs as a globe of white mage light following after me lazily like a lone firefly. My footsteps reverberated off the walls of the Great Hall, and I was almost about to exit into the night when I heard a sharp crack from the direction of Solas' atrium. 

" _Da'len_?" Solas' voice echoed out. "Is that you?" 

His surprised face peeked out of the door. In the dim light, I could make out that he was wearing a paint-covered apron, palette knives, and dry paint brushes filling the front pocket. 

"What are you still doing awake?" I sputtered. I knew Skyhold workers gossiped about how little he slept, and I had witnessed this first-hand, but it was still sometimes unsettling to realize how few hours he did sleep, which weren't elective. " _A fortunate quirk,"_ he told me with a wink the first time I asked about it. 

"I was working on the murals in the atrium…." He paused, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Would you like to see the latest progress?"

"Yes, h _ahren,_ " I said curiously. 

I had walked past the start of the art project earlier that afternoon on my way to visit Dorian in the library. Solas, with the help of a few Inquisitor scouts, was applying cartoons to the wall. He had trained them first to poke lines he drew with needles, and then flatten the paper against the wall to rub over the stencil with charcoal and leftover soot. Afterward, Solas, wearing hide gloves, would then meticulously mix lime plaster with pigment and apply it directly onto freshly plastered walls. The process was complicated, and a whole swath of background fresco was laid down before the more finite details were added. 

Unsure what I would find, I followed behind Solas. The image that we stood in front of was not fully realized yet, but even if the wall he was working on was a mix of abstract shapes and unrealized fields of vibrant greens and reds, the effect was harmonious. Geometric lines had been added recently, in undulating patterns. I looked up and down the wall several times before turning to speak with him.

"It's striking. What will it become?" I crossed my arms and began to pace the room as he sat down at his desk in the center of the room before gesturing at a wooden-back chair placed opposite to his own. 

"I plan to depict the Inquisition's story." He smiled, seemingly pleased at my admiration, "This section will be the Conclave." 

I marveled at the image for a few more moments before Solas called out to me again, gesturing to a heavy mortar and pestle on his table, "Perhaps, you can help me prepare for tomorrow by crushing some of the pigment?" 

I walked over and sunk into the chair to see a mortar filled with blue vitriol. The stone had been mostly crushed into dust, but jagged bits poked out of the finer ground particles. I was content to continue grinding away, relieved to have a focus finally. I crossed one leg over the other and eaterly got to work. 

Across from me, Solas set about to do the same, only with what looked to be black onyx. For a few minutes, we set about in silence except for the soft sound of crushing stone. 

"What troubles you?" Solas bluntly asked. 

" _Era' fun enfenium_...of Haven," I said intentionally using the old Elvhen word for nightmare, which implied more a living fear that gripped one at night, the implication being that the experience was more of a tangible reality than the common congruent. The ancient elves had more ways to describe states of sleep, Something I appreciated about the language. 

_"Ir Abelas_ ," he said while vigorously crushing his mortar and pestle against the stone. "Have you always had such strong _era' vun enfenium_?"

"No, not often. Sometimes _thenal sominar_ [waking dreams], the ones mages usually have." 

"Although the Circle foolishly denies such a thing, there are ways of training yourself to avoid the nightmares." Solas raised his eyebrow, still staring down at his mortar and pestle. "I could show you if you like?" 

"What would that entail, exactly?" 

"I would meet you in the Fade," Solas shrugged. "It's mostly mindful dreaming or as the Ancient Elvhen would say, the _vir' sil' dun' sominar_." 

_"Vir' sil' dun' sominar?"_ I said as if chewing on the words. The Elvhen language wasn’t so natural to translate as it often implied rather than delineated specific meaning. I could make out the words for way, mind, body, and dream if I allowed all of them to bleed into each other, like ink on a wet piece of paper, several layered meanings surface. 

"Elves thought that the body and the mind were not so different." Solas illuminated, "Dreams, the logic was, were a meeting place between them both, it's not a common practice, but perhaps learning more would help your suffering." 

I was torn, knowing I was running out of options. I was hesitant to strengthen my connection to the Fade, not knowing all the qualities of the anchor, and I was unwilling to re-open my heart to the mage that sat opposite to me. Still, if I couldn't sleep, I wouldn't be very useful as the Inquisitor. 

"Please," I replied, sounding more desperate than I originally intended.

He nodded, standing, and with an elegant twirl walked through the door into his bedroom, which was adjacent to the atrium. For the next few moments, as I crushed rock, I heard what I guessed were drawers opening and closing as he rummaged through his things. 

When he returned, I saw him carrying a few parcels, all of which he set down in front of me. I was astonished to recognize among the items a familiar stretch of fabric: the Dalish blanket. I couldn't suppress a gasp as I ran my hands greedily across its surface. 

"I thought it was destroyed!" I exclaimed as Solas sat down across from me again. 

"Forgive me," he replied in a somber voice," When the Red Templars swarmed Haven, I was right next to your cabin...before I went to the Chantry to heal the injured, I took a moment and rescued the blanket. A moment of opportunity, I thought to seize." 

"It might be selfish, but I appreciate the gesture," I breathed, picking up the folded blanket and holding it to my cheek. Admittedly, I had missed it. Terribly. 

"Take it, then," Solas pressed. "In the pouches, you'll find incense, a blend of roots and flowers that will hasten your sleep. Burn it before you put your head to pillow, and we'll begin this upcoming eve." 

" _Ma serannas_ ," I said, feeling a deep flush spread across my face. I was struck by his consideration for my well-being. _"We are only friends,"_ I thought to myself. 

In the distance, I could hear the first bell of the morning, summoning the cooks to the kitchen. It was almost dawn.

"You should try and get a few hours of sleep, _da'len,"_ Solas advised, "Until the sun sets." 

"Good night, or perhaps morning-- _hahren,"_ I said, rising to walk out of the atrium, looking back for a moment at Solas who waved as I quietly shut the door and slowly walked back to my room, my hands lovingly wrapped around the Dalish blanket. 

_"Creators, I am in trouble."_ I thought to myself as I bemoaned the resurging feelings I had for Solas. " _May the Dread Wolf take me."_

\---

Over the next few weeks, Solas and I met in dreams. At first, I found the process strange. I would be walking along a desolate stretch of road when he would appear at my side. Initially it was his strength that kept the nightmares at bay, but over time, I matched his prowess. 

" _Focus on your pleasant memories. Not the details, but the emotions you associate with them,"_ he instructed, " _Your clan, the outdoors, a favorite place--anything that works"_ It wasn't long until I could summon a meadow full of birdsong, or as I once saw traveling the countryside of Orlais, field after fields of lavender that we saunter along for what seems like a few minutes, but in the waking world is a whole night. 

I learned quickly, and Solas judged that the lessons would be able to end soon, as one night I was able to summon Haven without the hoard of Red Templars. We decided to walk its familiar terrain for a bit, first making our way down to the bowels of the Chantry building. We arrived in the dungeon, and he points to shackles on the ground. 

"I sat beside you while you slept," he narrated, "Studying the anchor." 

Our memories began to blur together, as we relived the saga that had introduced us. 

We exited the Chantry, standing on the hill overlooking the village. The Breach was restored to the sky, an ugly mark on the otherwise clear sky. A distant sensation tickled my throat, and a Fade rift bursts in front of me out of nowhere. Solas grabbed my hand as he had when we first met, the anchor erupting to seal the rift. Usually, I felt pain when actively sealing a rift. Only in the dream, the action was easy like a hot knife melting butter. 

"You sealed it with a gesture," His voice sunk to a deeper register. "And with that, I felt the whole world change." 

I was barely able to concentrate, as unlike the waking world, the line between emotion and sensation is thin in the Fade. As Solas released my hand, and looked away at the town, I felt his yearning wafting in the air as if I was covered in steam from a hot spring. 

"The whole world changed?" I asked, as the light surrounding us turned prismatic. I closed my eyes briefly, and all I saw was a balmy red. 

"A figure of speech."

"I'm aware of the metaphor. I'm more interested in the felt." 

I tucked my hands behind my back. On my skin, I felt small static bursts climbing.

"You change…" he paused, his chest rumbling with a soft exhale "...everything." 

My fingers reached for and lightly traced his jawline. Our mouths met chastely at first, but the restraint only lasted for so long. The hungry tug of his lips on mine confirmed for me how much he had also wanted this moment. 

I was overwhelmed by the sensation and stepped away for a moment. Instantly regretting my decision as I caught Solas' mournful gaze. Had I miscalculated again? 

I turned in embarrassment, only to feel Solas grab me and pull me towards him. His hands were everywhere, one trailing up my spine as the other cradled my head as he dipped me down to kiss me fiercely. At first, his lips were soft, careful, as if to lull me into something deeper. I responded with a fury and moaned as his tongue slipped between my lips. His hands brushed down my sides as he mashed our bodies together, eclipsing the space between our hips. 

It was oblivion. 

We paused for breath, only for Solas to draw me back into another embrace. His fingers wound themselves through my hair as I dug mine into his tunic, pulling at the threads in heated desperation. Our bodies trembled in unison. Each moment intensified like the start of a sunburn in the summer sun. I thought to pull off his shirt, and slip it over his head, until his kisses come to a gradual halt. 

"We shouldn't," he whispered tenderly into my ear, "It isn't right, not even here." 

"What do you mean, even here?" I looked around the deserted town. 

"Those are better questions for when you… "Wake up!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ It's not canon but I'm not pretending that Nym didn't know it wasn't the Fade. I get why it was this way in the game, but find it hard to believe that she wouldn't know what was up...
> 
> +Thanks again to this wonderful website: https://lingojam.com/ElvenDAI
> 
> +Going to say Solas would most likely to do buon fresco. The process I describe is not super historically accurate per Renaissance methods, but I wanted to add some depth (mostly because if he just applied paint to the walls it would flake off). 
> 
> +I've been making up some of the lore as I go along. Happy to identify which bits are and aren't.


	22. The Last Resort of Good Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nym and Solas talk after the Fade kiss. Nym helps Dorian with family issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter goes out to Amlovlies who has been reading since the beginning, and who takes a special interest in any chapter to do with Dorian/Inquisitor friendships.

**CHAPTER 20**

The sensation of that kiss lingered for some time upon my lips. It would have to content me for a while. Sadly, even if I did not know it yet, the afternoon after Solas and I embraced in the Fade, I was called back to the business of running the Inquisition and would not see him for several months. 

The morning after I woke up, I hurriedly got out of bed, splashed some cold water on my face from a basin, and ran downstairs to Solas’ atrium.

I still can clearly picture the expression on his face,half-way between longing and pain. I could feel my face twist in a hopeful smile as the words Cole said to me flashed in my mind, “ _He thinks about what wouldn’t have happened if the old hurt hadn’t surfaced.”  
_  
Solas appeared as if he was busying himself, his arms held tautly outstretched over diagrams and other schematics, His hands simply shuffled through the pile without much attentions yo their contents, as his gaze had been on the door waiting for my inevitable arrival.

“Nym,” he said, standing upright, when I opened the door in a rush, not bothering to knock in my haste. 

“Solas,” I replied, unsure what else to say. Despite the palpable tension, both of us laughed, our conversation interrupted when Varric burst through the door with a loud thud. 

“Sorry, I um…” he looked back and forth between us awkwardly sensing he had interrupted a meaningful exchange. “I was going to go out and see if Curly got my report. Don’t mean to interrupt whatever _this_ is.” 

I tried to make my face as neutral as possible, before turning to the dwarf and dismissing him with a polite “Thank you, Varric.” 

Solas and I waited for him to walk across the room before continuing to speak. 

“I had an interesting dream, for lack of a better term,” I offered weakly, noticing Solas’ hands clench the edge of the table nervously as if he were keeping himself standing. It was a momentary lapse of composure, and before I could confirm the tic, his perfect posture returned. 

“I’m sorry the kiss was impu--”

“If you say the kiss was impulsive and ill-considered again, I’m going to shove your desk down your throat.” 

“Yes,” he chuckled. “That might be a physical impossibility.” 

“Says someone who walks dreams simply for pleasure.” 

I hadn’t intended the word to entice Solas into anything further, but its use unloosed something in him as when he caught my gaze again, his mouth parted a bit, with a sharp intake of breath, mimicking the sound he had the night before in the Fade as he had kissed me passionately. I thought he might, as I had several times, be replaying the scene from last night over in his mind as we stood there. 

Another moment longer, and he recovered again, his face back to that impossible-to-read mask. 

“It has always been easier for me in the Fade,” he said in a husky baritone, his eyes lowering as if lost in thought, “It has also been a long time, and I am not certain this is the best idea.” 

“I’m willing to take that chance if you are.” Mostly I was glad at least that he acknowledged, for once that there was something between us. Dread mixed with hope and left my heart racing again as I thought he might reject me. 

“Can I take a little time to think?” 

“Yes, take all the time you need.” 

He surprised me then, stepping out from behind his desk, the bulky piece of furniture separating our bodies throughout the entire conversation. I could feel the blood rushing to my head. It felt as if a flood was trying to burst out through a tiny crack in my chest. As Solas inched closer, I couldn’t help but think about how I wanted him to push me up against the table, to feel the edge of it digging into me, as he kissed me again. The sensations of the Fade were disembodied, and now that I had a taste, I craved his touch to be wholly concrete. 

Instead, all he did was squeeze my arm as if to reassure me of his interest. It was not a sensual touch, more caring, but it was enough for my body to jolt unexpectedly, and bite down lightly on my lip to stifle a moan. Solas’ eyes widened when he saw the effect it had on me. It only took so little, after all, for him to rile me. 

“I should go...to the war room.” I offered, my voice shaking. I needed to get out of that room, away from the temptation to do something rash in such a public space. 

“I’ll be here later,” he replied hoarsely, his eyes dancing coyly, “Now that we are awake, I’m happy to advise on anything you might need related to Corypheus.” 

“Thank you, Solas,” I responded with as much control as I could muster, practically escaping the room as if I were a race horse, rushing right past a confused Josephine, down the hallway with a massive hole in the wall overlooked the mountains, collapsing in a padded chair with a huff, my hands tracing the stretch of my arm that Solas had caressed moments earlier. 

\---

The meeting was proceeding in earnest when a knock hammered on the door. Cullen continued talking without giving it much attention, as he updated the council on supplies, while Josephine took detailed notes. The sound echoed again, and Leliana rose to open the entrance, revealing a frazzled Mother Giselle. 

“This is quite unorthodox,” Leliana observed, ushering the Chantry matron into the room much to the confusion to the assembled members. Only an emergency could have compelled her to interrupt the morning briefing. 

“I’m afraid that I come on a bit of a personal matter, but I received correspondence just this morning from the parents of the young man from Tevinter. I’m afraid--” she trailed off nervously.

I looked at her sternly. I admittedly had very little patience for her at the time even if she conceived her intentions were good, I had not appreciated how she had attacked Dorian, sometimes openly about his home country, and other times more subtly with odd lectures on the mores of the church on same-sex couplings. Although Dorian was not officially out, not even me, the occasional man stumbling out of his room in the morning--or on one occasion, broom closet--left little guesswork. 

The week prior, over dinner, Mother Giselle had gone into a very stern monologue on the evil of men with other men. Irritated, I slammed down my fist on the table, with a sharp “Enough.”

I didn’t often lose my temper, preferring instead to solve problems with diplomacy, but the cruelness of the woman’s words and intent angered me. The outburst brought all eyes of the table on me, and Mother Giselle stuttered, unused to her authority challenged so openly. 

“There will be no such further talk in the Inquisition,” it was my first direct order to anyone, at any time, as the Inquisitor. 

‘Surely, the Inquisition as part of the Chantry,” the woman insisted. 

“You are confused, Mother Giselle, the Inquisition is an independent organization with a shared history with the Chantry.” 

“Surely, you can’t…”

“Before you continue any further, Mother Giselle,” my voice was low and calm, “You should know two men raised me. I don’t think their marriage requires more or less scrutiny than any other performed by the Chantry.” 

Her eyes narrowed as she stared at me, vexed before she relented, “Yes, Inquisitor.” 

The rest of the dinner was awkward, and aside from Varric attempting to make a few jokes, silent. Still, I did not regret saying what I did, daintily shoving spoonfuls of soup into my mouth before getting up with a hum and walking away into the night peacefully. 

What could Mother Giselle want with Dorian again?

“His parents have sent me a letter,” the woman continued in the Council chamber, “It seems they are on bad terms, and they are asking for him to meet with a proxy in Redcliffe to clear the matter up.” 

I made eye contact with Cassandra, who nodded at me thoughtfully as if she thought it was a good idea.

“Thank you, Mother Giselle, I will share the letter with Dorian if you would give it to me.” 

The woman sighed. “The letter asks that Dorian not be told of such a plan.”

“The letter, “ I ignored her words, putting my hand out. “Please, we do not ambush our members with secret plots." 

With a huff, she deposited it in my outstretched palm.

\---

A few hours later, I was sitting opposite Dorian in the library nook, where he often spent his free hours studying. He had taken it upon himself to research Tevinter records and manuscripts to learn the true identity of Corypheus and was quite serious about collating every line he could on the subject. 

I read the letter out loud to Dorian, and was I surprised when the contents had brought him into a state of unexpected shock. I had predicted on several occasions that he was estranged. I had not expected him, however, to be rendered speechless. It was perhaps the first and only time I had seen him in such a state. We sat together in silence until he sunk to the floor, his hands clenched. 

"I know my son?" He yelled. "What my father knows of me would fill a thimble." 

I waited, knowing it better for him to get all of his thoughts out before I offered my opinion. 

"He expects me to travel with Mother Giselle--if only he knew her thoughts on Tevinter--to meet with this proxy--and discuss. To discuss." he trailed off. 

I put my hand on his shoulder, patiently waiting for him to finish the sentence. 

"Perhaps he means to kidnap me?" He said, gazing up at me desperately. 

"That would be hard to do, if you were accompanied by Inquisition agents. Myself, perhaps."I shrugged. “We can go today, if you wish. There still might be time if we can ready within the next hour.” 

“You would do that for me?” He said in disbelief. 

“Of course,” I said, “Anything for you.” 

“Who would have thought,” Dorian mused, glancing out the stained-glass window, "A Dalish elf and Tevinter mage friends in this new world.” 

“Stranger things have happened,” I interjected, summoning a wave of green mana to the surface of my skin as a gentle reminder as to how strange“Now get going! We have to get ready.” 

I had thought to ask Solas to join us, but climbing downstairs to his makeshift office, I didn’t find him. With no time to waste, I found an eager Iron Bull and Cassandra, who both grinned at the possibility of finally leaving the castle to roam. Neither were accustomed to being confined to one place for as long as we had that winter. 

When I went to say good-bye to Solas before we departed, I found both the atrium and the room empty. Taking a piece of paper from his desk, I scribbled out a note for him to find in Elvhen, “ _sule somniar vira sal” [until we dream walk again]._

\---

I sat at a table in the Gull and Lantern, carefully sipping a glass of clear liquor while watching Iron Bull and Krem accept bets from passing soldiers about their ability to best the qunari in an arm-wrestling match. It never ceased to amaze me how many hopeless fools took the bait. Only, I couldn’t complain too much as the winnings usually funded our drinking for the evening. 

After gathering a small pile of gold, Iron Bull trampled over to my table. his heavy step causing the glassware to shake slightly with a low din. 

“Rough day, huh boss,” he said, slamming his colossal jug of ale down on the table. 

He was right. It had been. We had arrived early in the morning only to find Dorian’s father in the place of the proxy. He had greeted Dorian, his arms outstretched in contrition, apologizing for what he had done to push his son away. We learned his crimes included not only frowning on Dorian’s interest in men, but attempting to use blood magic to force him into a loveless marriage with another woman. The confrontation had been full of shouting, but eventually, the two had come to some form of reconciliation. 

At both Bull and I’s urging, the two had been talking in a private room off to the side of the inn, clearly ordering a jug of wine, as well as dinner, throughout the night. The sight of barmaids bringing in an entire roast chicken had assuaged my worry that my friend had been kidnaped. Rather than interrupting, we had left both father and son to work through their ill-feelings. 

“Say what you will about the qunari,” Bull said, striking his chest, ”Sometimes it seems a lot simpler to me not to have a family unit you’re stuck with for life.” 

I laughed at his joke, which resulted in Bull stroking his horns beaming at my amusement. 

“Yes, well, hopefully, this relationship can be salvaged.” 

“I feel sorry for Dorian. He’s really easy on the eyes.” Bull shrugged. “Smart too, for a Tevinter mage. It seems like he should be able to live his life how he wants to.” 

“Easy on the eyes?” I asked. 

“Well, I like how he handles his staff. He gets all serious, and then before you know it, BAM! he swings his stick and fries an opponent with a big spark of juicy lightning.” 

“Yes, well, don’t tell Dorian," I said dryly, "I’m afraid the idea will go straight to his head." 

"I don't think he needs help in that department." 

I laughed again, this time clutching my sides thinking over what Dorian would say later when I told him about Bull's comment on the way he handled his staff. 

For the next hour or so, Bull and I played a game of cards while Cassandra watched with a disinterested expression. She was reading a book, wrapped in strange crimson paper, and no matter what bribes Bull and I offered she wouldn't reveal the contents. 

Our game was interrupted when a somber-faced Dorian walked down the stairs, hoovering adjacent to one of the benches. 

‘Hey Boss,” Krem called over, with a wave, when he saw the mage. 

"Gotta go to some business, there," the qunari said with a shrug, his horns swinging as he turned his head, almost striking Cassandra's book from her hand. 

"Hey!" she said, "That was intentional." 

"Want to swing a few in the yard?" Bull asked her pointedly. 

"Haven't you had too much to drink?" She asked him with a disapproving glare. 

"Better that way. Come on, Krem will take more bets." 

"Gambling, great." She huffed. "Alright, I'll go." 

The two continued to banter playfully up to their rooms upstairs before disappearing into the back-yard where they engaged in some fierce practice, the sound of their weapons clashing in the air as a crowd cheered occasionally interrupting the mostly quiet inn throughout into the late hours. 

Once Bull and Cassandra had left I gestured for Dorian to sit across from me, who seemed rather tired after an unusually long day.

"Well?" I asked him. 

"I have to say, I was skeptical by the whole thing. It seems my father is truly remorseful and it will take time but I think we'll repair our awful history. I have you to thank for this, I never would have come otherwise." 

"It was hard, but you did the work to make things better," I said, not meaning to sound like an old Elvhen sage, but I was a few glasses of gin in. 

"I have to ask though," Dorian said with an arched eyebrow. "You seem rather, rosy, shall we say. What has gotten into you? Did I catch you humming this morning as we got the horses ready to come to town?"

I broke out into a deep blush. The heat of it, causing my temperature to rise as if I were held over an open flame. 

"So what did Solas do?" my friend asked, gesturing for a glass of wine from one of the bartenders. "You didn't...did you?" 

"Dorian!," I scolded menacingly. 

"Tell me," he said gleefully. 

"You know, Dorian," I scolded. "Today is your day, I wouldn't want to take away from any time you need to discuss your family issues." 

"Nope!" he said, "We're done on that subject. Tell me all the dirt." 

I summarized all I felt comfortable revealing to my friend, who listened with rapt attention, whooping when I mentioned that we had kissed (leaving out the part about it being in the Fade), and our conversation on a few mornings ago. 

“Finally! Judging by your description, I am curious how long the poor man needs to think. I bet he fantasizes about you while…” Dorian said in the animated voice he used whenever he was going to say something especially vulgar. 

“We do not need to go there,” I said, putting my hand up to my face in embarrassment. 

“Oh, but don’t we?” Dorian pressed playfully. 

“I will take away your wine if you continue.” I teased. 

“Well, now that is a threat I will have to comply with." 

"You know Bull said the most curious thing to me earlier this evening." 

"Oh?" Dorian said, throwing almost a whole glass of wine down his throat in a single drink.

"Yes, he enjoys the way you handle a staff." 

It was a bit petty, but I thought it very funny when my statement caused Dorian to spit the huge glug of red liquid out, some of it running out of his nose as he processed the words. 

\---

One month we spent in the Storm’s Coast, searching Dwarven ruins for red lyrium. A special report had arrived in Redcliffe, and Cassandra and I determined it would be best if we took the opportunity to head to the nearby area before the Templars could move their supply. The mission was a success, and we were able to destroy the infestation before any more of the corrosive material could be shipped elsewhere. 

\---

The next month we were in Val Royeux, entreating noble families for further support, and considering property within the city limits. It was banal, but Josephine had insisted that we increase our holdings, and we desperately, in her words, needed to have a foothold within the elite city. Vivienne, much to my chagrin, had come along and offered her advice. We visited several townhouses for sale, all of which seemed satisfying to me, but was distasteful to the picky mage. 

“Vivienne,” I said, losing my patience with the quest. “Please, whatever you choose.” 

“Really, dear?” The woman peered curiously at me. I had never deferred to her opinion before. 

“I think you know best,” I said, gritting my teeth slightly. “Although Josephine will have to advise on what we can afford.” 

“Certainly,” Vivienne said, stretching like a tiger after one sharpened its claws. Within the hour, we had closed on a charming little ruin on one of the town squares with fancy patisseries and cafes frequented, in her words, by the “most interesting people to the Inquisition with all those funny little connections we might want.” 

Over dinner at one of the open-air restaurants in the ancient town, I caught Vivienne and Josephine muttering to each other in Orlesian. I knew that both were speaking about me because one would occasionally pause and dramatically gesture at my clothing. 

“Well,” I said, “Out with it. What do you want?” 

“Your wardrobe, darling. You need to dress like the Inquisitor, not some backwoods mage playing with fire when she could summon an inferno.” 

The comment usually would have resulted in a snappish remark from me, but I held one back considering that I wanted to continue moving towards a better relationship with Vivienne. 

“Well, Madame Le Fer,” I said with my best Orlesian accent, “I hand myself over to your better judgment in this category.” 

“That’s so sweet of you,” Vivienne said with a sinister glint in her eye. I felt like she was sharpening her claws. 

The next day I found myself being poked and prodded in nothing but my undergarments, which given my straight form, were simple woolen shorts and a thin chemise. A few of the atelier’s workers were winding a tape measure around varying parts of my body, taking ample notes. 

Vivienne was holding up a few swatches of fabric that appeared delicate and not conducive to any of my lifestyle choices, either renovating an ancient ruin or trekking through the wilderness. 

“This wardrobe needs to be practical,” I insisted, “I need to be able to strike a Templar down if need be.” 

One of the workers gasped at my brash comment before rushing out of the room in tears. 

“Naturally darling,” Viviene responded aloofly, swaying over towards where I stood in the center of the room on a podium, my body illuminated at all angles--both flattering and non-flattering--by floor-length mirrors. 

“You need some proper stays,” Vivienne instructed, using the polite word for “corset” as she pinched the flesh on my sides. “It will give you more curves.” 

“I’ve never worn stays,” I said, more absent-mindedly than anything. I didn’t intend it as a criticism and wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea, but one of the dressmakers, a brightly festooned woman with large feathers sprouting out of her hair, put her hand over her face and fell on the floor in a very convincing faint. 

“See dear, you need better undergarments, or half of Orlais will fall. Literally. You just need it to be sure it’s the _right_ half for the _right_ reasons. ” 

I wasn’t entirely persuaded, but wasn’t really in a position to argue while I found Vivienne guiding the dressmakers pinning reams of fabric around my body. _She always knows the best time to pick a fight._ I thought to myself, enviously, as I tried to stand as still as possible as if I were a frozen statue, determined to do at least one thing Vivienne approved of. 

\---

When we returned Skyhold, in between our next quest to the Forbidden Oasis to replenish our supplies, I had waited for all in the party to be occupied settling in before running up toward the rotunda—trying to appear as if I were gliding, not stomping, towards what I thought would result in reuniting with Solas. When I opened the door, I was dismayed to find the room unoccupied, not even a pile of papers left stacked neatly on his desk. 

Leliana found me sitting in his chair, an hour or so later, studying the frescos. Solas had added another section depicting a wolf-howling while we were gone. Her eyebrows arched coquettishly. “I’m afraid that we did not expect you back for some weeks after your latest message, and Solas and Blackwall decided to investigate rumors of an Elvhen artifact to the North.” 

I opened my mouth to ask when we might expect them back again only for the auburn-haired woman to interrupt me with a knowing look. “They won’t be back for a month or so, I expect.” 

“Oh,” I said in a mournful voice. I was so downcast I didn’t bother to hide the disappointment in my reaction to Solas’ absence. “

“I’ll be sure to send your regrets to them both when they return,” she said sweetly, stopping to unexpectedly stroke my back as I sunk my chin into my arms on Solas’ desk. I was so wrapped up in my thoughts. I didn’t react much to her reassuring gesture. She left me, in silence, minutes later, while I curled up in the oversized chair, enjoying the lingering scent of cedar in the air. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ I've been playing a bit with changing up the dialogue. So sorry if it's not wholly canon compliant. 
> 
> \+ I wanted to spend some time thinking about side-quests. Basically, everyone is starting to catch on to what is going on between Solas and Nym with varying degrees of support. 
> 
> +I think Iron Bull and Dorian are the best couple in Dragon Age. Even if I am writing a Solasmancer fanfic? 
> 
> +Yes, Cassandra was reading smut at the dinner table. 
> 
> +Also, I don't hate Mother Giselle (even if I found her a bit patronizing but I've never played as a "true-believer), but added a little extra spice here.
> 
> \+ I never thought I'd write so non-fiction so much in my entire life! Thank you to everyone who has read even a swath of this work. 
> 
> +p.s. I started a Modern Thedas AU which you can find here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24121003/chapters/58071217


	23. The Forbidden Oasis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nym finds a familiar face wandering the desert. Fluff ensues with a tinge of angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s/o to everyone who downloaded the antaam-saar dlc and now has one in every color.

  
**Chapter XXI**

I was lying in the full heat of the sun, daydreaming of nothing, on one of the wooden look-out decks in the middle of the Forbidden Oasis. Sandstorms had prevented our small group of companions from leaving for over a week. 

An enjoyable peace had settled over the area. When we had first arrived, the oasis was overrun by Venatori and Fade rifts. There were several difficult fights in the labyrinthine tunnels carved into the ravine by an old lazurite mining operation. With brutal efficiency, we had snuffed out both foes in a few short weeks. It had been hard work, but satisfying to problem-solve with brute force rather than political acumen for an interim. As the bodies piled up, and the area was cleared of any threats, the group had taken-up an unworried day-to-day routine exploring the caves and surrounding sands. 

There was only one objective left: The Hidden Temple.

The structure was a giant, sinister place with an unknown provenance, graffiti and inscriptions in half-a-dozen unrecognizable languages were etched into its stone walls. Dorian and I had only stepped into the inner entryway, but had stopped when a shadowy force took over our chests as if choking us. We were able to confirm, however, that the shards we had collected over the last few years unlocked the doors. How the Venatori had unearthed the wonder, I'll never know. 

I was anxious, however, to return to Skyhold. I trusted that Leliana and Cullen would attend to any immediate emergencies the Inquisition faced. No, my motivation was personal: to reunite with Solas. It had been almost half a year since our kiss in the Fade, and I had last seen him. Replaying the scene in my mind still, admittedly, left me breathless. 

I had hoped that I might encounter Solas in my waking dreams, only despite searching for him, he never surfaced. Sometimes, I thought I might have had the tickling sensation of someone watching me from a distance, but when I investigated the source, I found nothing but an empty atmosphere. Whatever would come next between us would have to wait.

Spreading my arms out, I was determined to soak up the glorious weather as if I were a climbing vine, and think only of the heat of the sun on my body. I had spent months cold in Ferelden, and the warmth renewed me. 

I was startled when I heard a familiar baritone calling my name. 

_"No, it couldn't be."_ I thought to myself, pulling my body to the edge of the deck and peering over the edge flat on my stomach. 

_It was._

Solas' curious face peered up at me. He was wearing loose beige robes made out of light cotton fabric that wrapped around him, a thin mage cap over his head, to protect his fair skin, which was red and burnt in several areas. Even if he looked bedraggled, he broke out into an uninhibited smile when he saw me that I found striking. 

"What are you doing here?" I yelled down. My heart was fluttering, and I felt all sense and cogent thought evaporate. After being seperated for so long, and parting under such ambiguous circumstances, I wasn't sure what to say. 

He chuckled, before calling out, "Leliana sent Varric and I all this way to assist with the temple you wrote her about. She was quite insistent."

”What about the sandstorms?” I yelled.

”Varric and I walked around them!”

"Oh," I said, pushing myself up from the ground with my two arms to stand, before cheekily yelling back, "Everything is fine, thank you." 

"You're not even going to greet me?" He teased. 

I looked over the edge again, and petulantly shook my head, which made him laugh even harder. 

"Do you want me to come up there, or do you want to come down." He called out. He appeared miserable in the hot sun, and I thought that he might enjoy a reprieve in the shade. Determined to lead him to the camp on one of the dunes in the middle of the intrinsic pool, I slid down the ladder, almost falling on top of him. 

His eyes widened when he saw what I was wearing. Or perhaps, more accurately, what I wasn't. 

" _Fendeis,"_ he cursed below a whisper, clearly shaken. In all the years I knew him, it was the first and only time I saw him blush, even if it was difficult to determine if he was red from the sunburn or surprise. 

On our travels towards the oasis, we had come across a group of Tal-Vashoth Qunari merchants. With Bull's help, we had delighted in examining the wears they peddled, a mixture of qunari traditional crafts and the sort of miscellaneous weapons and goods wandering caravans usually collected like pots and charms. Dorian had been enthralled by one particular outfit called an _antaam-saar,_ and convinced me (and somehow Cassandra) into purchasing a few. 

Unexpectedly, the heat of the area had made the _antaam-sars_ more practical than whimsical. After spending a few afternoons in the rays of the desert sun, all of us had quickly taken to the qunari garb. I considered the one I was wearing to be the finest one I owned. Thin, onyx-colored ropes were tied in intricate knots around my throat that held up the approximation of a breast band that wrapped around one's torso. The fabric was sheer and black, with intricate needlework of tiny gold stars and silver crescent moons for some semblance of modesty. A coordinating pair of pants gathered at the waist, becoming more and more sheer towards the ankle, where they tied with a gold band. 

I didn't have time to goad Solas any further with my ensemble, as from a short distance behind us, I could hear Dorian shout, "Nym! Solas!" as he ran over a wooden bridge with a practice step, the sound of the planks clattering against one another echoing in the ravine. Solas turned to him and laughed, seeing that the Tevinter mage was wearing a similar outfit to mine, only with epaulets tied to the shoulder in the place of a breast band. 

"So you match," Solas said, surveying the two of us with a mirthful gleam in his eye.

Dorian looked at me and then down at his outfit, shrugging. 

"Obviously," he said in a sarcastic tone, posing regally. I couldn't stifle my laugh any longer, setting off my friend to chortle without any control.

"The only obvious thing here is that the two of you are pleased with yourselves." Solas sighed before continuing. "Come, _nua'alin_ , let's return to the camp, and you catch me up on these outfits." 

A confused expression flashed across Dorian's face, and he whispered to me, "Nua'alin _?"_

"Troublemakers," I muttered back. 

"Ridiculous?" Dorian said with mock outrage. "How you manage to be so nondescript all the time baffles me." 

"Yes, well," Solas quipped dryly, "I like to spend my gold on other pleasures." 

"Like what?" Dorian asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Wine, my palatial estates across Thedas, and let's not forget my pet bears who cheat at cards." 

"Are you joking?" Dorian threw up his arms with a yelp, "I can't tell if you are joking, Solas." 

"Wait until you see Cassandra," I interjected with a wink before grabbing my staff and following between Dorian and Solas, trying to ignore the way my chest pounded as I tried to anticipate what might come next.

__

The evening passed by leisurely. Varric expertly roasted a pheasant he and Solas had caught over the open fire along with some citrus fruit and dried herbs. It tasted heavenly, and the six of us traded stories of our adventures over the last few months over a few bottles of ale. Varric, in particular, had relished Dorian and I's reenactment of sacking the Templar enclave in the Storm's Coast. Handing the dwarf a curious gear we had picked up in the smoldering ruin, he turned it over in his hands with amazement. "This thing is ancient, reminds me of my time scavenging in the deep roads." 

A loud blast of a trumpet interrupted his musings, and with a loud howl, Bull stood, roaring and slapping his chest much to the joy of a few soldiers who cheered from an overhead rock face.

"What is going on?" Varric asked me, struck as Bull assumed his full height, his horns illuminated ominously by the twilight sun. 

"The Night Run," Dorian stated as if the name was enough to convey a complete explanation. 

Cassandra and Bull had set-up an obstacle course that spanned the circumference of the whole oasis, and while it had been originally intended as a training routine, it quickly became the central amusement in the remote posting. After all, there wasn't much fun to be had in the oasis unless there was a concerted effort to manufacture some. 

It was Cassandra who summarized the idiosyncratic ceremony for our recently arrived companions. "Bull and I developed an obstacle course to train the troops here, before it gets dark out, or with torches after, scouts and soldiers race in groups of three or four at a time. The winner gets a bottle of ale or another prize. Whatever is handy. Every few days, we change the route with flag markers or add some sort of new twist to it." 

"Like blindfolds," Bull interrupted with a sly grin. "Use old qunari methods. No one's gotten too hurt yet." 

"Fascinating," Solas said. 

"Would you like to go and watch?" I asked nervously. I still was unsure where the two of us stood, having not had a chance to talk with Solas one-on-one. "We usually go as a group." 

"I would," the older elf said before wincing and gesturing towards his face. "Only I think I need to see to these burns first. It's been a long journey." 

"Nym can help you with that!" Dorian offered exuberantly. "She's bottled all sorts of elixirs as we've wondered about." 

Solas paused, tucking his hand up underneath his chin as he did whenever he was intrigued.

Dorian was right. Over the last few months, I had taken to collecting and learning about all the plants we came across in our travels, and sometimes I was lucky enough to find a local healer or mage that could teach me about their properties. In the process, I had learned how to make some potions and tonics that both treated and prevented sunburn. 

"I've found a few plants that help heal the skin," I said. "It's not instantaneous, but it will hasten the process more than magic." 

" _Ma serranas, da'len,"_ Solas replied in a formal voice. 

"How about you two address the burns," Cassandra ordered, pointing at Solas and me, "The rest of us will go to the observation post. And you can join us as soon as you are finished." 

"That works for me, Seeker," Varric said, opening up his pack and rummaging around for a jacket. Although the oasis was scorching in the day, it cooled off quickly at night to the point where one needed several military wool blankets to stay warm. 

"Bull and I are going to go check on one of the legs of the course we set-up," Dorian said in a jumpy tone. 

"Both of you?" Cassandra asked with an arched eyebrow. The two had used the same excuse over the last few weeks, and although nothing escaped the warrior, she would never comment openly on her suspicion that the two of them were slipping away for a secret rendezvous. Even I had not asked Dorian what was going on, as I knew that underneath all of his bluster, his thoughts ran deep, and I knew to wait until he was ready to talk before bringing up a sensitive subject. 

"Alright, we'll see you later," Cassandra said with a sigh before turning with Varric to climb to the start of the course.

Solas stood and offered his hand to help me up, which I accepted dreamily. I had been rendered somewhat speechless as I gazed up into his pale-blue eyes after such a long time apart. Especially after he squeezed my hand and held onto it longer than necessary when I was upright. 

Dorian issued an exaggerated cough, startling Solas and I enough to turn to his and Bull's direction. "We'll see you in a bit then," he said with a wink, putting on a warm sweater before sashaying in the direction of one of the many connecting tunnels with a smirking Bull. 

As soon as they were out of earshot, Solas gave me a puzzled glance, and asked, "Dorian...Bull...are they?" 

"I believe they are courting, but I haven't confirmed it." I shrugged. 

"Courting?" Solas chuckled, "Now you sound like a _hahren,_ not I." 

I laughed despite the nervous thrill I felt realizing that for the first time in months Solas and I were alone together. Standing close to him, however, I could see the intense burns and blisters that covered parts of his face and neck. 

"How did you become so badly burned?" I asked him with a gasp, "It's like you haven't seen the sun for hundreds of years." 

I meant it as a joke, but whatever I had said caused Solas to stiffen for a moment.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" 

"No, It's been a long day. I am admittedly in pain." 

"Come," I said, gesturing for Solas to follow me into my tent. Given the sparseness of the area, I had it to myself, one-half set-up for sleeping, the other dedicated to my new interest in cataloging, drying, and bottling potions. Each one was in a glass bottle, with a carefully pasted label with the date it was brewed, the origin of the plant, and a number corresponding to meticulous notes I kept in a leather-bound folio.

Upon entering Solas regarded the piles of herbs and potions with an animated smile. "You've been productive" 

"I've been learning how to improve my healing skills." I chattered absently trying to fill the silence, "I never had the patience to experiment before, but perhaps I have changed." 

I grabbed two pillows from my bedroll and threw them on the floor with a soft thud, plopping down and patting the one across from me which he sank gracefully upon, crossing his long limbs into a compact pose, before taking off his cap revealing a very burnt head that caused me to flinch. 

I rose on my knees and moved to inspect Solas' burns. "Ouch," I exclaimed, reaching out to lightly prod a stretch of peeling skin to try and determine how deep the burn went. Only to have Solas take my hand in his again.

"I need to say, before the other's return…" his voice trailed off. 

I clenched my eyes shut, feeling his other hand lightly traced the edge of my cheekbone, and then my jawline, before slowly withdrawing. I opened my eyes to see Solas looking back at me with wonder. It was if he had been struck by lightning.

"I don't know if this is a good idea." He said forcefully, and despite my resolve to accept if he wanted to end things, I could feel tears brimming. _Why were things always so difficult between us?_

"Nym," he said tenderly. "I don't mean to imply I want to end things. We have not seen each other for months and I think we should spend a few days acclimating before letting this progresses further." 

"Acclimating? Only for you to reject me again?" I scowled crossing my arms, pulling back from his arm's length. I didn't understand how he could be so clinical all the time. 

"No," Solas paused, his mouth twisting mournfully. "I only meant, perhaps you should think before jumping in. Who is to say you want to continue in a relationship with someone like me?" 

"Like you?" I asked bemused. 

"I am older than you. Considerably." 

I shook my head, processing his words, my eyes going back to the sunburns that covered his face, mixing with the dusting of freckles. Even he was currently a mess I still found him utterly spellbinding. Solas might be at least twice my age but in the time I had known him he hadn't appeared to grow any older. It was as if he was fixed in time. 

"I have a past," Solas continued somberly. "It is not a kind one."

"Surely anything--you can trust me." 

Solas' face grew sorrowful. He moved forward, and I felt a hand reach to touch my arm tentatively at first, and then with a firm grip when I did not retreat. Not breaking eye contact Solas placed his other hand underneath my chin, and brushed his lips against mine in a polite kiss. The touch was almost chaste, but a small taste was enough for me to start trembling upon contact, my hands landing on the edge of his shirt, gripping tightly at the fabric, as the world around me swirled. 

"That was impulsive and ill-considered," I teased him when he drew back for a breath. 

"It might be better to end things now." 

"No," I said, drawing him in again for another kiss. 

The touch was so unlike the Fade: concrete and sweet. Solas' lips were insistent, his breath twisted into a groan, almost inaudible, but it made me feel as if it were on fire or had swallowed an electric storm. I had not known myself capable of such a feeling until that point, and the ecstasy of it overwhelmed me. 

The entire time, we had been kneeling in front of one another, and a jolt from the base of my spine caused me to lose my balance. I reached out, grabbing Solas' shoulder to keep from falling over. My grip caused him to inhale sharply with a pained expression. 

"I'm sorry," I said concernedly. 

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Solas reassured, tucking a piece of my hair that had fallen out of a braid behind my ear. The air had chilled considerably, and I began to shiver. Solas ran his hands up and down my arms and I felt myself blush again at his attention. 

"Your burns!" I cried out, remembering why we had originally entered my tent in the first place. 

"Yes," he chuckled. 

I hastily began to rifle through the wooden crate to my side and selected a glass jar containing a thick clear liquid, holding it up to the dwindling light to double-check it was the right salve. 

"What is that?" Solas asked. 

"Elf root and olive oil. Along with some rosemary and aloe." I cracked open the jar and grabbed a white cotton cloth and began to carefully spread it along Solas' burn as gently as I could manage. 

"Remarkable." 

"I think you'll have to let me use mana to heal these properly," I mused poking cautiously at a few blisters. Magic, unless used by a trained healer, to treat injuries was always a difficult and haphazard process. Solas was adept, however, one could not use one's own mana on oneself effectively. Such were the tricks of magic. 

"How did you do this again?" 

"I fell asleep in the sun when I visited a ruin and wasn't wearing any preventative salve. It was rather careless." 

"Ah," I exclaimed while I dabbed at Solas' face, his eyes dancing as he watched me work. A few times I stopped as he caught my eye, laughing self-consciously at the wildness in his gaze. I knew that allowing me to rub his wounds was an excuse for us to touch, and was happy to go along with the charade if it gave me the opportunity. When I finished with his face, his skin had started to return to his natural pale hue. Summoning a small burst of mana to my fingertips, I waved my hands over the burns, watching the injuries heal further. 

"There's more," He said sheepishly, without warning, drawing up his tunic over his head, revealing another swath of burned skin across his muscular chest. It struck me then, gaping at his physique, that I had never seen his bare chest in all the years we had traveled together. I knew he was well-built, but didn't expect a molded set of abs like the one a warrior might have from years of training. 

"Nym," he said in a worried voice, "I should have asked before, I didn't think…" 

"No, I want to." My hands shook a bit as I began to spread the ointment over his chest. When I finished Solas took my hands into his own and gently dragged me forward in for a deep kiss. This time wrapping his strong arms around me, gradually pulling me closely in, as I linked my fingers in his belt to give me more leverage to kiss him back with an enthusiasm I had never before summoned, our breathing growing more ragged and desperate in a short span of time. My hands trailed over the rough fabric of his pants as my hips instinctively rubbed against his until he groaned.

For a time my world was only the sensations of our realized longing: soft tongues passing over one another, moans echoing, and caresses of bare skin. I never wanted it to end. Only it had to, regrettably, as not showing up at the Night Run would cause suspicion. It didn't seem right to tell the others yet.

"The others will be wondering where we are," Solas paused as if reading my mind, extracting his hands from my body. "We should join them before they come back and catch us in such a vulnerable state." 

I nodded in agreement, feeling light-headed at what had just passed between us, and flopped down on the ground with a content sigh as I watched Solas soundlessly exit and reenter with a giant pack. 

"Are you asking to share my tent?" I teased, enjoying his penitent frown. 

"I was, actually." Solas began to rummage through his things, selecting a thin linen tunic that he slipped over his head, before adding his strange jawbone amulet. I was about to ask about its origins before I was interrupted by his next declaration as he went to unroll his bedroll a good arm's length away from mine. "Although, I insist on separate bedrolls." 

"You're a _dala'nehn,"_ I complained. The term that roughly translated to "kill-joy" in common earned me a sharp look before he put his arms around me again, nuzzling his nose into the tender part of my neck.

 _"Tel'_ _shem, tel' sila,"_ He said in a seductive whisper, as I enjoyed his elegant phrasing of the ancient Elvhen words instructing me not to rush or worry. "I'll wait outside as you change." 

I began to pick through my things, grabbing a soft woolen tunic to wear in place of my _antaam-saar_ , thinking with a joyful burst at how quickly things had changed in the last hour. Tying a belt around my waist and grabbing my staff, I stepped out of the tent with a chirp, greeted by Solas' warm smile. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ This might be considered canonically too early for canoodling, but we're almost 70k words in, and after some internal debate I think it was time to end a little bit of the pining. I've been trying to add some realism into this relationship, and my headcanon has a lot more moments like these rather than simply two make-out sessions and a lot of innuendo. 
> 
> \+ I also think they'd have to address the age gap (which is, I admit, totally almost voluntarily my own making). 
> 
> \+ In my headcanon, I also think that Solas debates confessing who he is to Lavellan multiple times. The impulse to live his life out with Lavellan vs. his quest I think is a big inner conflict. 
> 
> \+ I also tweaked the magic rules here, I'm fairly sure Dragon Age magic is super effective against rules, but I personally don't like magic to be an all-powerful force that fixes everything.
> 
> \+ Nym is going to be quite the plant lady, be prepared. I wanted to make a scene that played off the second chapter where Solas' healed her. p.s.a. the recipe here is not real, plez do not rub on your sunburn at home. 
> 
> \+ The next few chapters I'm going to inject a lot more invented content. It will still draw heavily from the game, but I think I want to have them stop by a city that doesn't exist in the game for a fun worldbuilding challenge. 
> 
> \+ Again, using this fantastic translator for all the Elvhen: https://lingojam.com/ElvenDAI


	24. In the Garden (Figure)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Made this digital painting/collage of an upcoming chapter. The inspiration of the image is John William Waterhouse's The Soul of the Rose (1908). I like to think of Nym as very Pre-Ralphaelite in looks.


	25. The Forgotten Temple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Nym grow closer and enter the Temple

**Chapter 25**

Who is Solas?

I do not know if I ever wholly believed his story of wandering the wilderness as a self-taught apostate mage. His skills are too formidable, and his knowledge too wide-ranging. Only a fool would have taken such an account as the complete truth. After he left, I resolved to uncover my lover’s secrets. When Leliana sent her scouts north to investigate his hometown, it was found long-abandoned, it's only mention in a Tevinter scroll centuries old. It is plausible that Solas was born there. The implication of that scenario, however, frightens me a bit. 

No, there was always _something_ more profound about his story. 

Did I know he was lying? _Absolutely._

Over the last few years, I have imagined a multitude of possible histories for my former lover. Solas could have been, as Iron Bull once speculated, a member of one of the lost tribes, or a merchant from a distant city-state that didn’t aggressively persecute elves. More likely, I thought him an apostate that had lost their family in the Blight or an escaped circle mage that ended up as a smuggler of ancient artifacts for a crime syndicate. It didn’t matter to me. 

After all, most of what I knew from Solas was tenderness. 

Not only towards myself but also for others.

When Inquisition members were injured, it was he who cared for their injuries. After the fighting was over, I’d find him out on the battlefield, treating our former enemies without judgment. Dwarf, human, qunari, elf--it didn’t matter--he’d sew their wounds, hold potions to their lips, or even offer a few kind words if it was late. He was selfless. I can recall an afternoon he spent reclaiming a stolen wedding band for a widow and another cajoling a Druffalo back into a pen for a distraught farmer simply because he was asked. 

I don’t want to sound naive. There was a dark melancholy in Solas always lingering on the edges, sometimes surfacing unexpectedly. “Healers have the bloodiest of hands,” he said to me once sinking into our bed to stare at the ceiling for the rest of the evening until he fell asleep after a failure to revive several of our fallen comrades. Other times, he would simply drift off in his mind, one foot in the present the other elsewhere. Only in the context of war, and after so much upheaval, it was hard to find anyone in the Inquisition who didn’t have any trauma or was innocent of any crime. Such behavior wasn’t out of the norm. 

I think my biggest failure was not realizing, until the last few hours, the extent of my complicity. Here in the present, I am walking up a hill in an eerie world filled with relics that should stay buried. Eluvians flash in the mist. In the distance, I hear the death calls of qunari warriors. As the emerald anchor in my hand painfully sputters, the clues of what I have found coalesce into a grim reality. All around me are vanquished foes twisted with magic once forgotten. 

How is our relationship intertwined with all of this? 

\---

Those first days in the Forbidden Oasis were a daze. Waiting for the sandstorms to dissipate, Solas and I spent idyllic afternoons foraging for plants and lounging near the pool. Sometimes, I would float on my back in the freshwater as Solas lounged in the shade, either reading to himself silently or out loud in Elvhen prose. A Dalish _hahren_ would call it courting. Far from the Inquisition, it was easy to be together. 

If the others noticed the newfound intimacy between us, they did not comment. I suspect all, but Varric did. Cassandra was not the type to judge, even if she would sometimes give me a knowing glance when I stumbled out of the tent in the morning for our daily practice. Dorian and Bull? Although neither would admit it, both were so enraptured in the early days of their romance they would regularly miss whole meals caught up fondling one another behind the waterfall. 

On reflection, hints of who Solas might be were there even in those earliest days of our romance. 

Or, maybe as Solas claimed, such coincidences were happenstance. 

The two of us planned to explore the Hidden Temple. One evening, we spread a blanket on the floor of our tent to study the materials Solas had found on the subject. I paged through the maps and ancient scrolls lying on my stomach, a few mage lights floating illuminating the faded pages. Solas lay next to me, his hip touching mine, reading a book, his head propped up with stray pillows. 

The night was still warm, and outside, one could hear Varric entertaining a flock of visiting scouts. Drunk, none noticed our absence, more content to watch the tuskets splash in the water. 

“Solasan?” I laughed when I found the name of the sandplain to the north before moving my finger to the marker for the temple.” Dhru’an _Solasan_.” 

“A coincidence, surely,” Solas said with a wicked grin setting down his book and scooting to study the map with me. 

“The ending of ‘an’ at the end, it designates a place…” I shuddered, trying to focus on the map as Solas slowly moved his fingers up my spine, each touch releasing a small burst of mana that tickled my skin underneath my shirt. 

“It means the place of pride.” He translated before insistently nuzzling into the soft part of my throat. I rolled onto my back to meet his blue-gray eyes narrowing in the dark light as he kissed me on the lips.

“So your name means pride?” I asked in Elvhen in the event we were overheard.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“I’ve never heard the name before,”

“Only as rare as a woman named for a quail,” He teased before making the chirping sound until I groaned. 

“Why do you think the elves called such a place the Temple of Pride?” I interrupted in an attempt to change the subject. 

“I don’t think I’d call it a Temple like the Chantry might. I suspect it’s more of a ritual or proving ground calling for the petitioner to undergo a challenge of some sort. I have seen young warriors in the Fade approach such ceremonies to uncover a prize within.” 

“That explains the feeling at the doorway, the one that made Dorian and me ill?” 

“A test of sorts, certainly.” 

I rolled onto my side as I felt Solas’ long arms pull me back flush against him. I closed my eyes, sinking into his chest with a content sigh, intertwining my limbs with his. It marveled me how relaxed it had become between the two of us over the last week. _Separate bedrolls and all._

“What will we find? I wonder?” Running my nose against Solas’, teasing him with a series of quick kisses, pulling away coyly before he could reciprocate fully, which only served to inflame him more, his grip on my ass tightening.

“The mystery is half the fun, _nua-lin,”_ Solas responded using the new nickname he had devised for me as a replacement for da’len. Although he had never explained the new endearment, I knew he was sensitive about our age difference, and had made a point to stop using the diminutive. 

“Do you sense Elvhen magic?” I teased as I slipped a hand up the front of his shirt, tracing his abs, dipping my hands dangerously near the edge of his waistband, which earned me a shudder. “Does the Fade grow thin there?” 

“I do not always talk about the Fade,” he said defensively with mock outrage, pulling my hand out from under his shirt, before playfully pinning me on the ground and kissing the edge of my jaw, his lips trailing down my throat. Aware of the thin fabric of the tent, and our general lack of privacy, I did my best to stifle my moans. 

“Solas! You _cannot._..” I paused with a small gasp as he sucked on my earlobe, “...distract me from fact.” 

“Oh? I will bear that in mind.,” he gleefully whispered before running his mouth over my jaw and throat until I began to shudder. The two of us tried poorly to keep the sound of our movements quiet while the soldiers continued unaware. 

\---

Solas and I walked over in the early morning to the Hidden Temple to the gentle lull of bird song. Dorian enthusiastically joined us. The route was short, and I enjoyed listening to Dorian chatter mirthfully with Solas about his theories of what kind of magic manufactured the ward at the temple entrance.

The conversation was interrupted when we arrived at the ancient stone steps. The doors were monumental with no means of opening. I couldn’t help but examine the facade with wonder, as at the time, it was the most intact Elvhen structure I had encountered. Time had eroded its grandeur, but it was nonetheless imposing. In some areas, one could still see the vivid pigments that had once decorated the intricate stone carvings that were now only raised bumps on bricks that barely clung together. To enter such a place would be a marvel. 

From experience, Dorian and I kept our distance from the doorway and watched with rapt attention as Solas strolled up to it. He moved to touch the surface, only to shudder, gripping his staff with two hands to keep himself standing, appearing to be nauseous. With a small tap, he hit his staff on the ground, releasing an intense burst of mana that lit the iron braziers on either side of the doorway with veilfire. 

“Why didn’t we think of that?” Dorian lamented to me in a harsh whisper. 

“Do not worry, Mage of Tevinter. It wouldn’t have been enough,” Solas spoke authoritatively, still facing the doorway. He stepped over to one of the overgrown bushes to the side of the entrance, picking up a stick on the ground, lighting it with a burst of veilfire, before swaggering over to me, and handing me the torch. 

“There is an inscription to the right of the doorway, would you care to translate for Dorian?” He pointed at an area of the wall that I had examined before, feeling a sense of embarrassment for not connecting the veilfire to reading. 

I nodded, walking up to the plaque, waving the torch over the surface, unsurprised as green letters fluttered over the surface of the dusty stone, I began to read out loud, “ _Emma solas him var din’an. Tel garas slasan. Melana en athim las enaste.”_

“Solas? As in your name, Solas?” Dorian asked quizzically. 

“A once more common name to be called. I have no explanation other than that,” Solas replied with a shrug. “Nym, the translation?” 

“Arrogance became our end. Come not to a prideful place. Now let humility grant favor.” I read slowly, drawing my fingers over each word as I spoke it out loud. 

“A riddle?” Dorian asked. “One I’m not sure how to interpret."

Solas chuckled good-naturedly, slapping him on the back. “It might be good for you to practice some humility.” 

Dorian rolled his eyes, moving his hand to his chest as if to simulate being struck in the chest by an arrow. “You wound me, truly. How do we enter?”

As I began to focus on the doors again, I felt my body flush with a sudden heat as if someone beyond the stone entrance called to me. Ignoring Solas and Dorian trading jibes with one another, I walked and put my cheek against the cold stone of the doorway to hear a song unlike one I had never heard buzzing in my ears. I closed my eyes and could listen to a roaring, not unlike the waterfall a short distance away fused with the sensation of pins repeatedly sticking me.

I calmly moved my hands over the cold stone, dropping the torch that made a hissing sound as it hit the mosaic tiling. A force wanted to repel me, but I refused it. I could hear the two men yelling behind me in an effort for me to put my hands down. 

“No,” I whispered. Dropping to my knees as the pain increased, I never broke off contact with the stone. It was as if blue flame licked my skin, and I could feel myself screaming as I could feel a void suffocating me. I opened my eyes and saw endless darkness. The song in my ear increased in fervor. I still could not make out the words, but they seemed to convey the sense that whatever test the Ancient Elvhen had left I had not mastered it. No longer able to breathe, I was overcome with the idea that I would die as a cost for my failure. 

I resisted only to find the darkness gripped me more tightly as I fought. Relenting, I accepted. The moment I did, I woke to see the doors to the Temple of Solasan slide open in front of me. 

“You did it!” Dorian yelped as Solas came to help me to my feet again. 

“I don’t know how,” I admitted to them both, my hand going to my temple as I tried to shake off the remaining dizziness. 

“You faced your failure,” Solas admired. “Accepted it even.” 

“A voice sang to me, I’m not sure I can take credit for it,” I admitted. 

Solas gazed at me curiously as if to say something, but then stopped himself. He peeked into the revealed passageway. I hadn’t been sure what to expect but was disappointed to find that the vines on the outside of the building had eaten through the walls and destroyed most of the murals. Whatever the temple had initially looked like, had been lost to time. 

“Well,” Dorian said, “Should we see what the shards do?” 

“Yes,” I agreed as Solas handed me my staff. Without delay, I ambled forward, twisting my hand to awaken a large globe of mage light that followed behind us. Pacing the expanse of the hallway, we found four separate rooms, each with a discreet bit of elemental energy. The doors were carved for each to resemble the entrance, only each was fashioned with a circular lock with exactly six slots for each shard to fit into. 

“What would you like to do?” Solas asked me curiously. I rummaged through the bag on my hip, taking out enough shards to unlock the first door. My steps echoed against the walls as I went from room-to-room, trying to think through my next step. One of the doors was coated in ice, and it was here that I went to. 

“This one,” I announced. 

“We should be ready for another challenge when we enter,” Solas advised, turning to stare at both Dorian and I as if to emphasize his words. “I might encourage you both not to rush.” 

“Alright, Chuckles,” Dorian said imitating Varric's voice, clearly ignoring Solas’ warning, clutching his staff in his hand with bravado, twisting his staff to cast a barrier that fizzed on my skin. 

I sluggishly deposited the shards into the doorway slots, each time a tremendous cranking noise ringing out in the hollow chamber. A hallway lined with ice greeted us. Dorian led us forward until we reached a perfectly square room. Rolling archways framed the ceiling, and a fine metal grate composed the floor. The space was empty except for a circular stand, ostensibly an altar, placed in the center. 

It was a curious sculpture, looking like a giant round peg made out of a single piece of black marble crackled with white. _What sort of test was this?_ I wondered to myself, seeing nothing on the top of the plinth. Still, there was an odd beauty to it. Breaking away from the group, I reached my free hand forward, only to feel as if invisible hands grasped my throat.

The room dropped to a dangerously low temperature, and as my heart began to pound in my chest, I could see my breath. I was about to turn and ask Solas what was going on when I heard the crackle of quick feet stomping over the floor. Glancing over my shoulder, I thought I might find Dorian or Solas; only instead, I was greeted by the half-decayed face of a mummy’s empty eye sockets staring back to me. Ducking the revenant’s blade, I slammed my staff in the ground, summoning a ball of fire that I blasted into its chest, causing its body to fling against the wall. 

It was not the last. At least a dozen zombies appeared, as if out of nowhere, each one more terrible than the next with rotten skin and withered hands that terrified me. One appeared covered in a putrid slime that hit my face when I grabbed a knife from my boot, jamming it through its skull. It was all I could do to keep from panicking and keeping from retreating. 

After i defeated the final corpse, I clutched my sides, crouching over and sinking to the ground. My breathing was heavy as I tried to clear my mind. Surveying the room, I was astonished to see that none of my foes remained. The room was as pristine as when we first entered. 

“It appears that we succeeded,” Solas announced, offering me a hand to rise for the second time that day. 

“What now?” I asked. 

“You claim the prize. Approach the altar, and it will guide you if you listen.” 

Without delay, I approached the plain plinth. Closing my eyes, I used my mana to probe the room, thinking perhaps that might give me more focus. Before I could gather enough mana, I found my hands drawn to the top of the stone, pulling me forward like a magnet. When my fingers met the smooth marble, glittering lights burst outwards soaking into my skin. It did not feel like any magic I had ever encountered. 

“I’m not sure what happened,” I said, when it was over, turning to the two men. 

“Let’s speak of this outside,” Solas said. “It does not bode well to dissect the blessings of ancient magic so close to the source.” 

I nodded, shaken by the experience. Although I was not superstitious, I was beginning to question several of my core beliefs about what I considered to be fact or fiction. 

We exited the first room, sitting on the floor momentarily to collect our breath and count the remaining shards. Although it had seemed that we had received a couple dozen over the last few years, I was crestfallen to discover that our supply was not enough to access more than three or four rooms. We would have to find more, even if the process was grim. _Better us than the Venatori,_ I thought to myself grimly. _Isn’_ t _that one of the arguments tyrants make?_

Dorian grouped the keys out on the floor, counting in Tevene under his breath. Solas gazed at me, quizzically. “You’ll need to come back here in the future. You owe it to yourself to finish the ritual.” 

“I think you’re right.” I nodded, before asking, "What about the magic. What was that?" 

"I believe it is a blessing, something to enhance your skills perhaps, or your tolerance of certain types of elemental magic." 

I examined at my body, searching for any sign of injury, finding none, but still feeling unnerved.

“There is something traumatic about all this,” Dorian said. “It took me a few seconds to realize what I was fighting wasn’t what I'd call solid. Otherwise, I might have put my staff down and run away.” 

“I saw the dead.”’ I said, attempting to keep my tone casual. In truth, the faces of decaying corpses still haunted me more than I cared to admit. However, given our regular interactions with dealing with remains, I had learned not to let the fear rule me. 

“Really,” Dorian cried in astonishment, “I saw my family! My mother and father.” 

“It seems that the test is to defeat one’s greatest fear. I expect we’ll meet the same in the other rooms.” Solas said pausing to pick-up one of the strange-looking shards, “I suspect we can enter the first of each room type, a nice bit of symmetry.” 

“This isn’t something I’m exactly looking forward to,” Dorian admitted. 

“No time like the present,” I said, packing away the remaining shards and stretching out m arms. It was going to be a long day. 

\---

Later that night, I sunk on to my bedroll next to Solas, who was reading on his back, a few mage lights clustered around his head. Peeling back on my blankets, I crawled in, curling up on my side. Solas set down his book, lowering his body down flush to mine, kissing me first on the forehead and then on the lips. 

“Solas?” I asked, making sure to keep my voice quiet so it could not be overheard. 

“Yes?” 

“I realized that you didn’t say what you saw in the Temple chambers.” 

“You are correct. I will tell you, but I ask that you not take it on as one of your burdens.” He said sadly, his nose wrinkling as it did whenever speaking about an unpleasant topic. 

“I will do my best.”

“I faced myself.” 

\---

The night before we left the Forbidden Oasis, as always, I woke up shivering to find that I had kicked my blankets off. Sitting up, I began to rummage around for them, only to pause and gaze at Solas’ sleeping body next to me. Each night the gap between our bedrolls grew smaller. This evening, he was only a few inches away. Careful not to disturb him, I grabbed a handful of fabric at my feet when I heard Solas stir and roll onto his back and look up at me groggily. 

_“Ahn’del_?” He asked in a tender voice I had never heard before.

Lying back down and pulling a blanket under my chin, I turned to face him and whispered, “ _Ar ame eireth.”_

Solas lifted the top layer of his bedroll, the warmth radiating outwards. I was surprised, as no matter how persistent my teasing was, he remained steadfast that I was not join him. 

“This is an invitation for sleep,” He warned me. “Nothing more.”

I rolled gingerly over, crawling inside his blankets to feel his arms welcome me into a tight embrace. The skin of his bare chest was hot and reassuring, along with the weight of him. Tentatively, I raised my lips to his in a kiss, which he quietly returned, his brows twisting in mock sternness. As was becoming his habit, he stroked my hair back from my face, smoothing it tenderly. 

“M _elava sominar, nua’alin.”_ He breathed, gesturing for me to turn back over, his arms returning in their original placement. Within minutes, I could hear his breathing slow as he fell asleep almost instantaneously. I tried to stay awake to wonder at the sensation of him but found it hard not to find my spot in the Fade quickly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nua'alin=troublemaker  
> Ahn’del=what's wrong  
> Ar ame eireth=I am cold
> 
> +The group is going to leave the Forbidden Oasis and travel a bit. I'm inventing a new town in the North. 
> 
> +This isn't exactly cannon, but I think the Temple is one of those things that works really well in a video game, but is not really novel/fanfiction type material. 
> 
> +Also, I know there is a lot of speculation about Solas' connection to the Temple, so I thought I'd make this read as either he is connected and hiding it, or a coincidence. You decide. 
> 
> +I wanted Nym to be the one that figured out how to enter the Temple rather than the two men. Solas has a lot to add, but there needed to be a bit of a "the future is female" moment here. 
> 
> +I am legitimately having a crisis about how smutty to make this fanfic in the future chapters. How smutty is too smutty? What kind of smutty? This is only my second fanfic and first in a decade.
> 
> \+ p.s. I joined a fairly intensive book group so my posting schedule is a bit off for the next 8 weeks. Will try to make every week!


	26. Starlight and Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW elven glory ahead.

**Chapter 26**

We traveled for more than a week to the city of Tel’ val as the Dalish called it, or “No Memory.” Forgotten mainly by Orlais and Tevinter, it was a wild place unlike any other at the edge of the Tirashan forest. Fashioned out of Elven ruins, the landlocked town had never been conquered and belonged to no one except the merchant guilds who controlled the ebb and flow of goods into the remote city. It was perhaps the only place in Thedas where humans, qunari, elves, and Dwarves were equals. Except for Skyhold. 

On the recommendation of the city guard, we rented a room from a widow with a withered arm and one eye. She employed an army of young girls in matching pinafores that marched to her every whim. Varric had complained at first, that we should have found someplace closer to the taverns, but stopped grumbling when he was served a pint of in-house ale so “good and hoppy,” it reminded him of Kirkwall. He planted himself at the long wooden table in the downstairs for the next two days, scratching out his novels, sometimes falling asleep with his head in his hands. 

After she was given a room, Cassandra went to investigate supplies. Bull and Dorian disappeared without a word. The two had finally stopped trying to hide their love affair, and were sharing a single room. A fact that made me jealous, as although I knew that many had already caught on, it would not be befitting for the leader of the Inquisition to take an apostate mage to her bed openly, and so the entire way north Solas and I hadn’t dared to touch or show any affection given our constant audience. 

Camping had been difficult. Not bothering to set-up tents, Solas and I were afforded the thin stretch of fabric that we had for privacy in the Forbidden Oasis. As time went on, it became more difficult to ignore one another. 

One night, when it was Solas’ turn to cook, he was roasting some small game he caught. I was watching on the sidelines of the fire, reading, when he looked up with a sly grin and said, “ _Ma ane ina’lan’ehn,”_ knowing that none of the other members could understand that he had just called me beautiful. 

I had only shook my head a him, feeling a blush spread across my cheeks, and waved my hand in his direction as if swatting a fly, “ _Tel_ _veraisa”_ I warned, or “don’t tease me.” The voice I used, low and full of delight, would have made the meaning clear to anyone but a fool. 

Inevitably, both of us had forgotten Varric oiling his crossbow, Bianca, a short distance away. Startled, he regarded Solas as if he had just handed me a vial of poison. “What did you just ask her?” His expression was suspicious, and his tone was accusing. 

“I asked if she could bring me a pouch of spices,” Solas said in a calm voice.

“ _Sa Sahal._ One moment,” I said half in elvhen as if that might distract the Dwarf from the true subtext of the conversation. 

After fetching the spices in question, I was surprised to return to the same cunning glint in Solas’ gaze, When he went to reach for them, his hand purposefully grazed mine.

“ _Ar nuvena to dhava_ .” His said, his voice growing low, each word stretched out seductively. _I wanted him to kiss me too._

“You’re welcome,” I responded, doing my best not to shudder, nor glance back at Varric, who was undoubtedly watching the whole exchange with unapproving eyes. 

“Seems like you had some good cooking help,” Varric scoffed midway through the dinner. “If that is what that muttering Elvhen was all about.” 

“Varric!” I groaned, doing my best to give him an intimidating glare. 

“What?” Dorian interjected. “What kind of help?”

Neither of us volunteered an explanation. 

So when I walked up to my room in the inn, I expected Solas to seek me out immediately. Wasting no time, I rinsed the dirt from the road and combed out my hair with oil until it shone like white gold. I twisted my hair into a loose braid that fell halfway down my back, not bothering to put it up into the intricate coils I usually did. 

Sorting through my pack, I pulled out a magnificent robe that Vivienne had commissioned. It was based on Dalish design, a jacket that tied around the waist with slits up the sides for pants to fit through. The fabric was made of a luxurious jacquard, embroidered with stars and crescent moons. At the time, it was the most majestic thing I owned, and for a few seconds, I admired the way the neckline fell off my shoulders. 

I was interrupted by a knock on the door, and found--as I guessed--Solas waiting there. 

“Hello,” he said in a jolly tone, his words interrupted as I pulled him through the doorway for a kiss. We lingered for a bit against the wall, our mouths hungry for one another. 

‘I thought,” Solas interrupting our embrace, “Given we do not linger in this city for long, that you might want to walk through the market with me while there is still light.”

“Later,” I said, placing my hands on his chest. 

“No one will recognize you this far away,” He offered, lowering his voice and whispering, “Besides _ma nua’lin, w_ hat would we fill the later hours with?” 

Placated and seeing his logic, I agreed, and the two of us exited the inn, not bothering to tell anywhere we went. 

The city of Tel’val was unlike any other I had ever seen. Walls of white sandstone could be spotted from a faraway distance, with houses stacked one on top of another painted in varying shades of pale aqua. In-between the homes, gigantic ruins poked out in-between. Some were almost ground down to dust, but a giant hand at the center of the marketplace was swarming with curious blackbirds who nested between the finger joints. 

Even the markets in Orlais were not so impressive. People in all different forms of dress, weaved in and out of the stalls and shops. Some merchants hawked piles of junk, while others were filled with luxury goods, men with sabers standing to watch over the wares. I was amazed to see, among many other things, that the population was not only human, but also qunari, elven, and Dwarven equally. The dress and customs seemingly blended in harmony. 

Solas was unmistakably giddy as we walked together, taking his hand in mine. I bristled at first, but he whispered in my ear, ‘Who will see us but Cassandra? Do you think she doesn’t know?” 

I nodded, my body relaxing into his shoulder. We wandered for a time, gazing at everything from pottery to used books that Solas stopped to riffle through as I ran my hands over bolts of velvet next door. Wandering over to another stall, I began to haggle for some small bundles of dried herbs I had never encountered. Picking up my packages, I was surprised to find Solas, a rakish grin on his face, handing me a giant pink blossom before taking the wrapped herbs from my arms

“I can carry them,” I protested. 

“Later,” he countered with a grin, pointing across the way to the smoke of a cooking fire to distract me. “Are you hungry?” 

We found a stall selling stuffed pastries, some savory, others sweet, and took a few small handfuls that we ate at an outside table set up for visitors to the busy market in the center of many food stalls. For once, we didn’t talk about the Inquisition or the Breach. Instead of chatting our favorite of the treats we had found, comparing their stuffings of goat cheese and meat. It was almost as if we were any other couple courting, without the weight of the world on our shoulders. 

Spotting something behind me, Solas jerked up on the bench, rubbing his hand down my arm when I looked at him with concern, sure I would spot some sort of armed assassin or Venatori agent. “It’s alright. Stay here! I will be right back.” 

I paused, nervously searching the crowd, only to have Solas return a few moments later with a bottle and some glasses of elven wine and a paper with an unleavened flatbread covered in thick slab of honey. 

“Creators,” I breathed. “I haven’t had anything like this since I left my clan.” 

“We could come here every day if you like?” 

“It’s that simple here, isn’t it?” I asked. 

“Everything can be simple for a time,” Solas responded with a faraway look on his face. 

Pouring him a glass full of green liquid, I changed the subject back to the everyday gossip, enjoying the floral notes that had been expertly fermented. 

Our illusion of normalcy existed until we passed by a stall covered in metallic discs. The smell of incense wafted heavily in the air. I smelled bergamot and frankincense. Intrigued, I moved closer, when a grizzled elven woman popped out of the door as if she had been waiting for my arrival. Her hair was wispy, barely there, her face so wrinkled it was hard to make out that she had, at one point in time, _vallaslin._

“Ellana Lavellan, come sit with me for a while.” 

Shocked, that she knew my name, my full name, I clutched Solas’ arm scanning the crowds again for any sign of danger. We hadn’t bothered to bring our staffs, thinking it safe. Solas was equally shocked, his face blanching before he recovered, for a moment his mouth wasdrawn into a thin scowl. 

Instead of comforting me, the woman laughed. “Really, you think I could harm ye?” 

“Are you Dalish? How do you know me?” 

“Not anymore, _da’len_ _\--_ Not since I ran off with my human husband.” 

“What do you want with me?” I stuttered.

“I’m a seer, come let me read your fortune. She bid me to follow her into her shop, peeking through the door, a dingy place covered in shelves full of strange things packed in jars. A few tables were strewn with various dried herbs or other magical instruments. 

“You don’t have to,” Solas instructed me. His voice firm but laced with worry. 

Closing my eyes, I reached for the Veil, finding a rippling under the surface that reminded me of the voice I had heard at the Forbidden Oasis bidding me to open the door Ignoring Solas, I walked forward, sitting in a chair opposite the old woman. The only decoration on the table was a hammered copper bowl filled with clear water. 

I could sense Solas follow behind me, standing to the side. The mana pulsating from him was dense and hot. I knew he was angry and wondered if it was at me. 

“The Forgotten Ones wandered here, but you know of them, don’t you da’len _?”_ The old woman said. It took me a moment to realize she was speaking to Solas. 

“Yes, I am afraid that is a lesson I do not need to learn again.” 

“You already know your fate. I have nothing to add to it.” 

I could feel Solas touching my shoulder, silently urging me to leave with him, only for the woman to interrupt him. 

“You, Ellana, come look in the water.” I sat down across from the woman, intuitively, putting my hands on both sides of the bowl. 

“Nym,” Solas said carefully. 

“You, da’len, leave us.” The woman barked at Solas. 

I peered up at Solas, doing my best to appear composed. I knew that even if he disagreed with me, he would never deny me once I made up my mind. 

“I’ll be out shortly,” I said, knowing he would linger outside the entire time. 

“Alright,” he replied, clearly worried, his step fast and pounding on the dry hardwood floors. 

I looked deep into the old woman’s eyes again, realizing they were completely clouded over, no pupils visible. Her skin was so cracked and freckled; I could barely make out that her _vallaslin_ were dedicated to Mythal. 

“Tell me the first three things you see in the water.” 

I glanced down, expecting only to see the placid surface, instead, images emerged, flashing so quickly I could barely separate them.

“A flame, a wolf, and a tower.” I breathed, the words tumbling from my lips unbidden as if spoken by another voice. 

She picked up my left hand, running her fingers over the grooves to read them. 

“You will wake things long forgotten, in the end, you will win the battle, but not the war to come. There is suffering in your life, but also great joy.” 

“My enemy?” I breathed, worried that I would not save Thedas. 

“That will be the easy part of your life, _da’len_ ,” she laughed before closing my open hand. “You are the flame, true light in this world. The tower is more difficult, I sense you are the one who will awaken this world, but with that, there will be great upheaval. Be vigilant to keep your friends close. You are fortunate to be surrounded by love. It will not always be so.” 

I thought over her words. Her prophecy was vague enough that I didn’t know if I found anything particularly decisive or instructive. 

“Yes, but if I am the flame, who is the wolf?” 

“That man who stands trying to listen outside. Be careful, he’s not what he seems,” the woman advised in a grave tone, “You already know that.” 

I nodded. 

“He is in love with you. You already know that too.” 

“Yes.” 

With a spry that surprised me the woman walked over to one of her tables, picking up one of the poaches and handing it to me. 

“You’ll need these soon,” the seer nodded. “If you don’t, in any event, I’m sure it will be good for your herb collection.” 

“How did you know?” I was a little mystified. 

“The first part I didn’t need any vision for. The second is a different story.” 

I took the bag opening it up and smelled. The recipe was known to me, a blend of witherstalk and blood lotus. A tiny amount was all that was needed to ward off pregnancy, and for years, I had observed the women of my clan discreetly pinching a few flecks into a hot mug of water or tea if it were available for breakfast.

“I’m not naive,” I said sourly. 

“No, you are not.” Her voice stern, “But you do not see what is in front of you.” 

“ _Ir abeles,_ _hahren,”_ I said respectfully. Although I found her prophecies to be questionable, I did not intend any disrespect. 

“Nym,” she said softly, pulling me down so she could whisper directly into my ear. “When the time comes for you to choose, drink, otherwise the water will have dried up.” 

“I-what do you mean?” 

“You’ll know it when you see it, _da’len._ Now go, I have nothing left to tell you.” 

I did as I was bid with a respectful bow, finding an anxious-looking Solas nearing the the exit. 

“That was strange,” I said to him, trying to hide the pouch the woman had given me. 

“A foolish errand,” he offered, clearly unsettled. “Would you like to go back to the inn? It is almost dinner, and surely the others will be looking for us.” 

I nodded, taking his hand in mine, enjoying the last few moments that I would be afforded such a privilege. 

\---

After stomping through the dusty market all afternoon, I was tired. When I returned to my room, I found that the stone bath in my room had been filled with hot water, Sinking into its depths, I watched as all the dust left my skin—soaking myself until the temperature was lukewarm. 

Afterward, I put on a slip that Vivienne had also insisted upon purchasing. It was made out of a thin black crepe that clung to me, leaving little to the imagination. I had not worn it the entire time we had been in the desert, thinking it too precious for the rugged terrain. I toyed briefly with getting dressed and going downstairs and joining the others for drinks, but riding for days on end had left me exhausted, instead of slipping a jacket on for warmth. 

Plopping down on the bed, the summer sun was still strong. I fell asleep until a knock on the door roused me. Thinking it was Dorian, I went to the entrance, opening the door without hesitation only to see Solas standing there with a feral smile on his face.

“Solas,” I said, pleased to see him, as I gestured for him to come inside. 

“I didn’t know if it was too late to call on you?” he asked with slight hesitation, I returned to the bed, flopping down again with my arms outstretched. He sat at the edge, staring down at me, amused at my lack of decorum.

“What time is it?” I asked, seeing nothing but darkness through the open windows. 

“Sometime after midnight,” Solas shifting closer to me on the bed. “Varric waylaid me for a long time with ale and cards. I can’t tell if he is trying to keep an eye on me or not” 

I laughed softly, picturing the scene. 

“Are you drunk?” 

“No,” Solas chuckled. “I stopped after the first half of a pint. I don’t care for ale, to be honest.” 

“Varric?”

“Let us just say that we will probably not be leaving the city tomorrow.” 

Feeling bold, I pulled Solas to lay down next to me and ran my finger along his strong jawline. I had missed the warmth of his body beside mine when we slept, which frightened me a bit considering how little time had elapsed since the arrangement had begun. “

Solas kissed me with a force that made me realize how much our previous touches had been just play. I struggled to keep up with the movement of his mouth, overwhelmed by the feeling of his entire body pressed against mine. When his hands traveled up underneath my jacket, I stiffened. Sensing my reticence, Solas pulled away and tucked a few errant strands of my hair behind my ear. 

“You’ve not lain with someone before?” He asked. It was more of a statement than a question. 

He was correct. I couldn’t make eye contact, my ears reddening. I shook my head. 

I could feel Solas’’ hands trace the edge of my shoulder blades, “I only wanted to say, we should not rush.”

I covered my face, overwhelmed with self-doubt as his voice trailed off. Between the slats of my fingers, I could see Solas’ pale blue eyes grow stormy. His hand took mine in his. His expression was an intense mixture of melancholy and longing. 

“Nym,” he said in a low baritone.

“You want to end things?” 

“No, I want to avoid hurting you. I still am not certain this is the best idea.”

“The only way you have hurt me is by not admitting how you feel about me.”

At my words, something in Solas snapped. One of his hands skimmed down my body to take hold of my thigh, his other to nudge my chin up so our mouths could collide again. I mirrored his enthusiasm, slipping off my jacket with clumsy fingers, wrapping my arms around the back of his neck. The deep moans that resonated in his chest at each eager stroke of my tongue thrilled me. He broke away to plant kisses along the column of my neck, working his way over the tiny divot between my two collar bones. 

“I have wanted to kiss you since the day I met you,” he sang into my ear. He drew back to stare at me intensely, “I thought it was the folly of a hopeless man at first, but then…” 

His words trailed off as he nipped at my chin, years of pent up tension and hunger bubbling to the surface, small bursts of mana rippling out of his fingers over my skin until I felt like I was pulsating from head-to-toe for want of him. 

“The whole world changed,” I muttered into his ear, recalling the words he had spoken in the Fade all those months ago. I ran my hand up underneath his worn cotton tunic. That time he did not push my hands away as he had before but instead paused to tug the shirt up over his head and throw it to the floor. 

“You undo me.” He confessed, one hand returning to untie one of the delicate straps of my slip. His movements had slowed and become more methodical as he traced the contours of my shoulder. My fingers wandered to the small freckles that dotted the milky skin of his shoulders like small constellations. The heat that was building up in me made me ache, and I let out a helpless little gasp as he undid the second strap. 

“Is this…?” He asked tenderly. 

Without answering, I slipped the loose garment down over my body, blushing when it stuck around my thighs, flustered that I couldn’t remove it. 

“You are so beautiful,” Solas reassured me softly, placing my open palms against his chest. His kisses became softer, more calming as guided me to the center of the bed, laying flush to my side. He ran his fingertips up the length of my spine, making me shiver, until he cupped the roundness of my exposed breast. He looked at me with awe as I returned his touch, running my hands over his skin, starting with his muscled biceps, and landing on his narrow hips. 

The open window over the bed let in a small sliver of moonlight that flashed over his skin in ethereal silhouettes. It felt unreal, after months of longing to find myself in bed with Solas. I had imagined what it would be like, but the sensation was overpowering as Solas kissed me in a pleading way, his body pushing against mine in a lusty rhythm. I could feel the outline of his cock through his pants, my hand reaching to tentatively touch the outline, which instantaneously resulted in a tremor that wrecked his whole body. 

“I’m sorry,” he laughed with uncharacteristic shyness, “It has been a long time.” 

“How long?” I was unable to stop myself from asking. 

“Centuries,” he joked, his face breaking into a sly grin. “Does it bother you that I’ve had other lovers?” 

“No,” I answered with sincerity. I had already made the assumption given Solas’ age that he had previous lovers, if not several, judging from his skilled touch.

“Would you like me to stop?" he asked, the old sadness surfacing in his voice. “You would tell me?” 

“Don’t stop,” I warned, resting my forehead against his, squirming to free myself from the remaining constraints of my sleeping gown. I still felt nervous, but seeing underneath Solas’ aloof exterior had brightened me. Feeling emboldened, I unlaced his breeches, only to grow frustrated again when my hands began to tremble. I managed to free Solas’ erection, which I stared at in wonder. I was taken over by a palpable feeling of desire but unsure what to do next. 

With a smile, Solas slid off his pants off completely with one fluid moment until both of us were completely nude. His hand began to travel over my shoulder to my hip and then back again before lightly brushing his lips against mine. The delicate way he stroked me, as if I were made out of delicate porcelain, left me breathless. In the dim light, I could see his face studying mine for every small sign of pleasure. 

I wrapped my hand around his cock, eager to move forward, only for Solas to push it gently away, with a small exhale “Not tonight. Slow.”

“I--I.” I worried it was my lack of skill that made him hesitant. 

“Let me,” he said, nudging one of his legs between my own, parting them. Solas paused again, “Is this?” his fingers were trailing up the tender skin of my thighs, teasing, edging closer. 

“Please” I cried, my hips bucking as his thumb found my clit and he began to circle it until he found the perfect pressure and tempo. He explored me with his fingers, slowly probing until I was moaning his name with abandon. I flailed, searching for something to grab hold of as the tension built in my whole body, and caught Solas’ eyes staring back at me before I buried my face into his chest, squeezing at his shoulders as my body began to uncontrollably shudder. 

\---

I woke a short time later to see a clothed Solas sitting in a chair gazing out the window. I wrapped a thin blanket around myself and walked over, placing a hand on his shoulder. For a few moments, I was worried when he did not speak, only to laugh when he grabbed me under the sheet, pulling my nude body on his lap, the air chilling me except for where I was touching his warm body. 

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I asked him quietly, “Solas, what is wrong? Do you regret what--” 

“No, never that,” he said quietly. His eyes filled with grief as he studied my expression, the wrinkles along his eyes twisting into a soft smile. “I only regret that this is possibly the only day in which we can simply be two people together, without legendary titles or other duties. Undoubtedly, it will change when we return to Skyhold.” 

Instead of answering him, knowing he was correct, I kissed him, only to be thrown on the bed again, his attention leaving me breathless more than once before sunrise. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ I'm really sorry about the delay, I took a long time figuring out the smut parts of this chapter, and have been working a lot on my other modern au fanfic. It took my whole writing group to talk out how this elven glory would go down. 
> 
> +elven is translated throughout the chapter (for example Sa Sahal=one moment). Thanks again to https://lingojam.com/ElvenDAI for all the help. 
> 
> \+ I have never written smut before, so if there is some sort of glaring issue, pleeeeease let me know and I'll edit. I tried to make it juicy. But not too juicy. In the end, shout out to all the great smut writers because this was really hard.
> 
> \+ This is very nerdy, but the prophecy is in reference to the last oracular prophecy at Delphi, when the Pythia said: "Tell the emperor that my hall has fallen to the ground. Phoibos no longer has his house, nor his mantic bay, nor his prophetic spring; the water has dried up."
> 
> A little overwrought for a fanfic, but I wanted to show a scene where Solas was not almighty and play more with the divination throughout the narrative. (This is not something Bioware does). I'd like to think you could read this two ways, that the old woman can see the future, or is simply eccentric. (If you believe the first, she def. knows who Solas' true identity is which makes him nervous). 
> 
> Also if the first, is she referring to the well of sorrows? JUST HAVE TO FIND OUT. (but obvi because we've all played the game before). 
> 
> \+ I made up the city, doesn't exist but is cobbled together by some Dragon Age Wiki googles. I wanted to really amplify the tragedy between these two characters here by giving them a place away from Skyhold/Thedas/Orlais to see what it would be like to be together without all the complications. Nym is still young to romance, so she's not fully grasped how much of an effect this will have on her. Solas, however, is waffling. He knows at this point he's in love, but is it enough to give up his mission? 
> 
> \+ dadenergy!varric has written enough love stories to know how this is going, and also to judge Solas for the power imbalance.
> 
> UPDATE THANK YOU TO MY IRL BETA READER AL WHO DID LINE BY LINE SMUT EDITS. TRUE HEROS EXIST IN THIS WORLD.


	27. Crestwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW ahead. Also gore.

**Chapter 27**

I did not mind the dreariness of Crestwood. My bed was significantly warmer. 

The rain pelted down on us. The dead rose out of the lake. None of it affected me. Each night when we crawled into the tent, we shared, Solas and I would make a game out of helping each other out of our drenched clothes. The wonder of it never ceased. 

The trip was not entirely pleasant. 

Dorian and Bull had traveled to the Hissing Wastes. Cassandra and Varric had gone off to chase a rumor of where the Seekers of Truth might be. Generally, Vivienne declined an invitation to travel through rugged terrain. I was also, admittedly, reluctant to bring Cole outside of Skyhold. Although he was willing, I did not feel comfortable putting the Spirit-Child (as I referred to him in my mind) in the position to take a life out of malice. _Besides, he did greater work at Skyhold while I was gone to keep morale up._

So we had left for Crestwood with Blackwall and Sera. 

I enjoyed traveling with Blackwall, generally. Sera was, at times, fun. The combination of the two of them together, however, made the conversation nonsensical and rowdy. Often, the rogue and warrior would nettle Solas about his fondness for the Fade, and ask any sort of absurd questions ranging from “pissing magic,” to “doing it with a spirit.” All of which, I was surprised to observe, Solas merely chuckled back and offered an earnest answer. 

As we rode East from Skyhold, it occurred to me that Solas seemed to carry himself differently. His step was lighter, and although he occasionally still appeared lost to his melancholy, but on the whole smiled most of the time. No longer reserved at dinner, he often teased Sera, and played cards with Blackwall. Sometimes he’d catch my gaze, and the two of us would grin, before we remembered who might see us. 

Even if the fact that we shared a tent every night did little to add any ambiguity. 

Sera, long skeptical of me, for both my “elfyness” and “mageyness,” did not practice any restraint in evaluating what had precipitated Solas’ new cheery habits. 

“I see the way he looks at you,” she muttered in a barely audible whisper as we foraged in the woods for part of our supper. “I bet he shouts out Elven Glory when you do it.” 

I had long outgrown stuttering and turning red when such comments were directed at me. I knew, from experience, that outrage rarely was effective Sera. Instead, given how I choose to ignore her, picking at wild strawberries from a bush. The two of us ignored each other for the rest of the trip and on the walk back to camp.

Preparing dinner, I had forgotten entirely about Sera’s off-hand remark and set about washing the berries I had found to supplement the dried jerky and bread we had brought along into something passable. When the others joined me around the fire, there was a content silence for a time as we all devoured our meal. It didn’t need to be acknowledged out loud how we were all starving, given the grueling pace we were traveling at to make it to Crestwood in time to meet Varric’s friend Hawke and her Warden contact. 

By the time we had double-checked the scouts, watched, and cleaned up dinner, it was already dark out. Blackwall pulled out a flask and passed it around the fire, all four of us taking a sip of whiskey that was perhaps too fine for such an occasion. 

“Thank you for sharing, Blackwall,” I said in a warm voice. Standing to head back to my tent, Sera squawked loudly. Startled, I turned my head back to look at her, thinking perhaps she had lit herself on fire. Instead, I found that Solas had also risen, maybe to join me, following shortly behind. 

“It’s’s so boring,” she exclaimed, “The elf always takes the other elf, so bumping bits means something.” 

Away from the shade of the woods, and aware of a dozen or so eyes watching the whole exchange, I did not have an immediate response, and returned to sit next to the fire, trying to pretend that I had not intended to go to bed in the first place. 

Instead, Solas took the lead, shaking his head. For all who cared to watch, he entered the tent, and brought out a pack of playing cards. Sitting down next to Blackwall, he began to deal a hand for diamondback, making a show of shuffling the cards as if to demonstrate his innocence. 

“Wut,” Sera said, taking a swig out of her bottle of smuggled alcohol. “It’s’s true. Glory for the empire an’ all that. These two are clearly in it.” 

“Sera, enough,” Blackwall scolded. I suspected the warrior had already figured out what was going on, but like Cassandra, he did not care to prod. Nor did he care for others to make scenes. 

“Cool your tits,” she muttered, shaking her head. 

“You are ridiculous,” I snapped before rising and walking back into the tent, mostly to keep the others from seeing my whole body shake with rage. I thought to myself, with some remorse, that I hadn’t prepared enough for the scrutiny that Solas and I might face. Indeed, I hadn’t thought that our inner circle would mind. Outside the tent, I could hear Sera muttering to herself as she often did when drunk. I couldn’t hear her voice enough to know exactly what she was saying, but her tone made the stance on the matter clear.

Resolving to ignore the gossip, I tossed and turned for the next few hours, knowing that Solas might not join me to evade further inquiries. We had already discussed that any relationship between us needed to be closely guarded. I hadn’t imagined navigating such a situation to sting so much. 

A troubled Solas roused me a few hours later, drawing back the blankets, and sliding his mostly naked body next to mine. His lips found mine before I could speak. 

When our mouths parted, I whispered as low as my voice could go, “Do you think anyone listened to Sera?”

“A few,” he admitted. “Should I find another tent?” 

I didn’t answer him, instead of running my hand down his abdomen, past the waistband of his smalls, curling my hand around the shaft of his hardening cock. Climbing on top of him, I clasped my other hand around his mouth, as I rocked back and forth in a motion I had learned over the past few weeks would earn me a shuddering roar. 

\---

Sera refused to talk to me for most of the voyage. Whenever I attempted to broach the subject, she would ask me with lewd questions ranging from the age difference between Solas and I, to intimate details about my “lady bits.” When we reached Crestwood, any possible reconciliation between the two of us was put on hold as the area was dismal. 

Although Scout Harding had greeted us along the village’s edge to summarize the state of affairs, I had never encountered such a sad hamlet. The Blight had wiped out the original town, now covered in water, while disrupted supply chains had left a starving populace with little in the way of resources or morale to battle the waves of the dead that rose from the lake without fail every night. 

When we had entered the small town, a woman in a ragged dress ran up to me, falling to her feet to sob. Her child, she said, had died the night before from a fever. There hadn’t been any herbs to heal him, no matter how the village had searched. She thought that I might revive him with a single touch, given that I was the Herald of Andraste. I had gone with her to her cabin, carefully--so as not to promise anything--talking the stranger through her grief and holding her as she wailed. The other women in the village came, and for a time, all of us were kneeling on the floor, looking at the small babe wrapped in a white linen shroud on the floorboards in silence. 

Shortly before dawn, we burned the body. 

When the sun rose, I was irate to find the mayor sitting alone in his cabin. He was the only villager that had not made an effort to come and greet us. I could feel Sera studying me when I demanded why he had not done more, pointing out that the people under his care were suffering. 

“What is there to do?” He asked. “When not even death is final?” 

We exchanged words for a bit. The mayor reluctantly summarized how best to drain the lake to reach the rift at its center. To do so, we’d need to clear out the bandits that had overtaken the keep where the dam controls were located. When he had finished, I looked at him soberly, my lips pressed into a firm frown. 

“When we return,” I demanded, “You will name a successor.” 

I saw the mayor nod, an attempt at words bubbled at his lips, but none came as I stormed out.

\---

It took a week for us to reclaim the area from the Fade and bandits. Shortly after that, we met with Hawke and her contact Stroud. Both relayed a chilling tale of how the calling had overtaken every Grey Warden. The leaders of the order were desperate not to lose control, plotting to raise a demon army to aid their fight against the Blight if they would fail. 

It was a terrible plan. 

Still, we were not able to, as Hawke recommended, to rush with her and Stroud to the West to investigate the rumors, for there was still work to be done in Crestwood. 

When we returned to the small city of Crestwood, we found a letter from the Mayor addressed to me, confessing to his actions in the Fifth Blight to drown the refugees and townspeople, those who carried the plague along with those innocents refusing to leave their loved ones, in a last-ditch effort to save the remaining townspeople. 

When I reviewed the contents with my companions later that night, a sense of horror circulated amongst us at the chilling discovery. Primarily as we had found the desiccated bodies still trapped in the old cabins along the shoreline. 

“Lemme find the arsehole,” Sera cried out in a rage, picking up her bow, ready to stomp off into the night.

“Wait,” I implored her, “The Inquisition will find the mayor, but we need to help these people first.” 

“Wut?” Sera growled, her eyes narrowing at my instruction. 

“Those crimes are long in the past. Most of the town is starving. Who will help them? Besides, do you remember what Judith said?” 

We had come across a healer, named Judith, in the outer edges of the farm fields who lived on top of the hill. She had hunkered down in her cabin, driven to hide not only as a result of the bandits that stalked the area but also because of a feral wyvern. She had been concerned as she knew that many farmers and villagers were concealing themselves in their homes, with untreated wounds to outlast the waves of the dead who rose each evening. 

Sera nodded, calming as she recalled the conversation. 

“Wut do we do?” she said, flopping to the ground, chewing on a stalk of grass like a cow. I resisted laughing at the scene--amusing as it was--knowing it might make the rogue more sour on me. 

\---

The old keep the Inquisition had quickly reclaimed Caer Bronach. It had surprised me when we walked through the fortress how it had remained mainly in excellent repair. One of Leliana’s closest recruits, Charter (if that was her name), walked through the rooms evaluating the items we found. We quickly made an inventory of grains, dried fish, and preserved meat to distribute around to the villagers. Dried herbs and crafting components were overflowing in chests and barrels. 

I thought of the small child we had kept vigil over who had so needlessly died of common fever. 

“It is heartbreaking,” I said to the redheaded elven spy, “To discover that the bandits had so much they kept from starving farmers. It wouldn’t have cost them much. Perhaps, they would have gained additional support.” 

“That’s the way of power, Inquisitor,” Charter responded as she took down detailed notes, using a discarded wooden plank as a writing surface. 

Word quickly spread, and each day more refugees arrived. We were joined by many of the villagers from Crestwood proper, setting up an infirmary and distributing goods. Volunteers went to farms in the outer fields, checking to see who needed what and offering assistance repairing fences and locating escaped farm animals. 

Judith moved into one of the bedrooms in the keep for a short time. She helped me to sort the containers of herbs and set-up a make-shift infirmary. Through Judith and Solas’ tutelage, I learned to treat wounds ranging from gangrene and poisoned bites. Each day more wagon loads of emaciated farmers arrived. Some had been injured fighting off the dead, holding on for weeks with a wound to the gut or fever. From daybreak until evening, I washed and wrapped wounds with Judith. When the body was free of pestilence, Solas and I would heal it with our magic. 

It was hard but satisfying work. I was happy to learn. Many I assisted, had never met a mage before, certainly not ones who had the intention of healing their ailments. 

At first, Sera refused to be anywhere near any magic outside of the battle. Instead, she joined Blackwall in the courtyard. The Warden had taken it upon himself to train those who were well enough to learn necessary fighting skills. He spent his days in the training yard, drilling young men and women with whatever discarded weapons they could find. Only a short amount of time passed until Sera grew bored and wandered around the castle, looking for hidden nooks and crannies.

On one of our last afternoons in the Keep, I was treating a severe case. A farmer had cut his palm on a knife. The wound had festered, the young man’s fingers growing black and crusty. We had soaked his hand in any number of herbal baths, covered the skin with foul-smelling unguents, and even attempted to have maggots eat away the rotting skin. Nothing helped. Magic could heal a wound, but only if there was no decay. The hand needed to be amputated. 

Judith and I spent part of the early afternoon talking to the farmer, helping him adjust to the idea that we needed to take the hand to spare his arm. A grim conversation, admittedly, but also a necessary one. 

I was surprised to see Sera lurking above us on the stairway listening to the entire exchange. Ignoring her, Judith and I proceeded forward. 

“Will it hurt?” The man had asked after we had offered him the option. 

I shook my head, patting the young on the arm. 

“If we used a blade and a knife, it would.” Judith explained, “Only Solas will be able to use his magic to take the hand in a few seconds. We can even put you asleep if you prefer.” 

He nodded. “Is it the only way?” 

“Your blood has been poisoned,” I said calmly. “If we don’t amputate, you will die in a matter of hours.” 

“I’d like to be asleep,” he said, tears streaming down his face. 

Judith and I fussed over him for a few more minutes before offering him a potion to drink. When the young man with straw blonde hair was asleep on a reed mat, Solas joined us. Even though the farmer was sleeping, I held his other hand, while Judith wiped his sweaty brow. 

With a quick wave of his hand, Solas summoned a fire spell, the small burst of mana radiated white heat outwards. Bending down, he clasped the side, focusing the spell on the stretch of flesh until only a cauterized nub remained. 

It would still be some time if we knew that the young man would survive the night, but at least he would be given a chance. 

Sighing, I went to walk upstairs to change out of the oiled apron I wore between patients. Walking past Sera without a glance, I was surprised to feel her grab my arm. Looking at her, I saw that her lip was quivering, tears streaming down her face.

“Frigging magic,” she sobbed. I stopped expecting another tantrum, only for her to surprise, “I didn’ think that you could help people with it.” 

“I didn’t ask to be a mage, Sera,” I said a little more coldly than I should have. 

“Yeah?” Sera said a little skeptically. “You’re not what I expected. I didn’t think mages wanted to help people.” 

“Magic can be a lot of things, Sera. Why can’t it heal as much as maim?”

“Pretty words, yeah.” She sulked a bit, biting her lip, “I’m sorry for all the things I said. You and Solas...two mages. I was frightened.” 

“I understand,” I said even if I wasn’t entirely clear on her meaning. 

“Solas is still a pompous arsehole, tho’, but you’re alright.”

  
“I’ll bear that in mind,” I laughed as the spindly archer wound her hands around me in the first real sign of friendship she had offered me. 

As her arms tightened, I sighed. 

““Sera?”

“Yeah?”

“You probably should change your clothes now since I was covered in blood.” 

“Oh, right. I’m used to it.” She muttered, not loosening her grip. 

“Even still.” 

\---

Later that evening, I heard a knock on the door before Solas glided in with an amused expression. It was close to midnight, and I was happy to see him, considering that we had not had much time with another over the last few weeks. Shutting the door behind him, he snapped the deadbolt in place before joining me on the creaky wooden frame bed. 

I had been lying in bed with a book by candlelight, wrapped in a thick quilt. My skin was still rosy from a scalding hot bath I had soaked in for an hour, my fingers pruned. 

With a sigh, Solas climbed behind me, nuzzling his face into my loose hair, still damp with lavender oil. I set down my book on the nightstand next to the bed. 

I had grown accustomed to his long stretches of silence. Knowing that Solas often did not feel the need to talk unless he had anything urgent to say. For a few minutes, I closed my eyes, enjoying his two hands traveled to take hold of my hips and grind them against his own. 

“Where were you?” I asked as he flipped me over to look at him. 

“I was playing a card game with Sera. She didn’t spend most of the evening making snide comments about me, so I thought, why not?” 

“What kind of card game?” I asked, burying my face into his chest. 

“I’m not sure. Nor am I clear on the rules. I lost all my gold.” 

“Oh?” I laughed. “I did not take you for a gambler.”

“Sera was insistent that she won, _and_ that I wagered all the coin on my person.” He chuckled. “I did not understand either arrangement, but was not about to call her a liar.” 

“Never that,” I laughed, placing my palms on his chest, before sucking playfully on his ear lobe. 

The touch sparked a chain reaction. Solas pulled my slip over my head, his mouth moving over my breasts in hundreds of kisses, warm breath tickling my skin until he teased open my thighs. His tongue traveled up my soft skin, pressing into me until his name on my lips twisted into throaty moans. 

\---

Later, when we were spent, I rested in the crook of Solas’ arm, staring at the ceiling as the light of the dwindling fire casting shadows over white plaster. 

“This could be a life,” I mused out loud. 

“Staying in bed all day?” Solas laughed, the lines around his eyes crinkling in a way I find endearing. “I could do that with you.” 

“No, working as a healer. Maybe I will be one when I am no longer the Inquisitor.” 

I imagined for a few fleeting seconds traveling with Solas across Thedas visiting towns and offering our services and potions. 

It was the first time I mentioned anything from the future, and Solas' smile twisted into an expression I couldn’t read. He was still smiling, but his look was strained as if he were sucking on a tart fruit. 

“Do you think the Inquisition will not last?” 

“Surely, I won’t be the Inquisitor forever?” The words came out fast. I hadn’t ever considered such a situation before unless it was my death. 

Solas turned to look me in the eyes. The blue of his were stormy and unrelenting. For a moment, he seemed about to say something. Only, to pull back. His arms wrapped around me again tightly, as if to push our flesh together. In the following months, I wondered about the gesture, but it took years, perhaps to understand the meaning. 

That our separation was inevitable and that Solas knew it even then. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \+ In a way this is more about Nym's relationship with Sera than Solas. And in my headcanon, my inquisitor got really hardcore into plants & potions, and learning how to use her magic to heal. She likes green things.
> 
> \+ hand amputation is obvi a foreshadow. I like to foreshadow/prophecy a little too much so please feel free to eye-roll at your leisure.
> 
> \+ Also yes, Solas wanted to tell her. So many times. #heartbreaker


	28. Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this headcannon going where Varric wrote what the game narrative was, and that the story I'm writing (or we are all writing in our own fics) is the real story. More Dadenergy!Varric

**Chapter 28**

I understand that in recent years Varric Tethras published his own account of the years in the Inquisition. A copy sits on my desk in Skyhold. I have read it cover-to-cover and while I understand his choices to omit my private life, in particular my relationship with Solas, it is not accurate. For instance, his book speculates on my love life but does very little to commit me to one person. Although there are several hints to the true account of what happened between Solas and I, there are also several scenes I share with Cullen that could be read with a certain--but very inaccurate--romantic slant. 

Walking up this hill, I am perhaps grateful that Varric left much of the story out. I do not know what I will find, or better yet, who I will meet at the top. Although I suspect the answer will put most of my intention as the Inquisitor into question. I may not be able to resolve that discussion in a satisfying way, only I can tell you much of what Varric claims to be aware of is hopefully naive. 

It is with some embarrassment that I confess how wild Solas and I were in those early days. If only, because of how tangled our later story would become. 

Both of us had been right to have some apprehension of how our relationship would change while we were in Skyhold. Not only due to my role as Inquisitor, but also because of the extreme lack of privacy. It was one thing to sneak away to a tent, another entirely for Solas to walk across the main stretch of castle to my room. Although, there were a few stolen afternoons in his dusty closet of a room off the rotunda--until Solas located a roundabout route to my room a few months later--we remained largely separated. Sometimes for weeks at a time. 

We were rather bold with exploring hidden corners all over Skyhold. There was the dusty library in the downstairs basement discovered by happenstance when we both went searching for an obscure text on Elvhen translations. There was the Undercroft in the off hours--the rookery if Leliana was in the war room, and also, what would become the mage tower. 

Until, however, Varric caught us.

Actually, I think it was embarrassment of that afternoon that made him censor the lewd details. 

_If I survive the next few hours, I’ll ask him._

In the weeks leading up to our departure to the Exalted Plains, I found myself without any meetings for the day. Cullen and Cassandra were training the new recruits. Lelianna was doing whatever she did (I still am unsure although I respect its effectiveness). Dorian and Bull were still in the Hissing Wastes, and Josephine was entertaining a delegation (which should have put a damper on what came next). 

It was the late afternoon when I found myself walking into Solas’ rotunda. He was studying at his desk, leaned over a stack of disintegrating parchment, making small notes with a thin graphite pencil in one of his leather bound notebooks. He was so absorbed that he barely noticed when I crept in.

He did not greet me when I stopped to look at his recent additions to his mural, an ombre wall of orange with yellow diamonds falling from an abstract sky. I did not gauge its meaning. 

At first I resolved to ask him about the frescos, only when I reached his chair, and put my hand on his shoulder, the look he gave to me, made me lose my resolve. I still think about that look from time-to-time, finding the rawness of it hard to reconcile with what would come later. I had never seen his sapphire eyes so piercing or stormy. Whatever he had been studying had melted away into something primal. It flickered for a moment, before vanishing. 

“Hello,” he greeted me in a friendly voice that bore no further evidence of his lusty expression.

Instead of replying, I nuzzled my mouth into the soft part of his throat, where his jaw ended, the stubble on his skin rough against my own. I was rewarded by Solas’ breath hitching in his chest. The unseemly sound echoed out in the cavernous space. Anyone could look down the center of the space, and see what I had just done. 

“Nym,” he whispered. There was an edge to his voice, a warning. 

“I miss you,” I responded in Elvhen, dragging my fingers along the edge of his jaw again. The hairs on the back of my neck were on end when I leaned down to lavish kisses along the sensitive stretch of his neck only to suck on his earlobe, enjoying the moan that escaped Solas' lips. 

‘Nym,” Solas continued in Elvhen, struggling to speak as I nipped his chin. His words were stern, but not commanding. “This is not the place.” 

“Where then?” I asked with feigned innocence, stepping back. 

“Later” Solas offered with a tender look, shrugging his shoulders. Picking up his book and turning the page, his hand tracing a line of esoteric script. For a few seconds, I only watched, only to find that his other hand had not let go of the back of my thighs, gripping tightly, even if he perhaps was not aware of doing so. 

I bent down again, dragging the tip of my nose over his, an invitation. I found his soft lips, kissing them, probing until he relented. We shared a few teasing kisses, my hands sneaking up below the hem of his shirt. Although I could sense Solas’ reticence at first, it melted away quickly when I pushed his chair back a few inches, squeezing in between him and his oversized desk. 

At that moment, we were opposites. Solas was rigid, his posture straight. HIs body firm, whereas mine was yielding, my hands slipped over his thighs. My legs wrapped firmly around his waist to straddle him, rubbing against his warm body in a way I knew would undo his resolve further. 

My hands wandered over him, playing with the strange bone amulet he always wore, as my lips collided with his. It had been only a few days since we had tumbled in his bed in the middle of the night, only our enthusiasm would have made it seem as if it had been years. 

He drew back, his face weary, as he put his hand over his mouth. A habit, I had discovered, indicated unease. He smiled, as I pretended not to notice his worries, pushing my hips more tightly around his clothed cock in a dangerous rhythm for such a public space. His protests stopped when my hand traced the outline and moaned. 

“Let’s go to my room,” Solas insisted with a coy smile, his hands gripped tightly around the roundness of my ass as he picked me up. "It seems you have the afternoon free." 

“No,” I protested, grabbing the edge of the desk, using my legs to pull Solas closer to me. “Here.” 

I didn’t really mean it, but was elated at the risk of being discovered. 

He shook his head, bending over me, grinding himself between my thighs with an almost inaudible gasp. His warm mouth ran down my neck as his fingers deftly unlacing my pants. _Finally._

There was a loud creak as the door to the study opened. A flash of red, and a loud exclamation of “Andraste’s dimpled butt cheeks.”

_Varric?_

I wriggled out of Solas’ grasp, catching a glance of his stunned face, as I rolled onto the floor. 

“Child of Stone,” Solas addressed the simmering Dwarf, “The Inquisitor and I were discussing--”

“Oh stop, Chuckles!” Varric sighed. “I know very well--”

I rose awkwardly from the floor. I wanted to simultaneously cry and laugh at the disappointed face that I found looking back at me. 

“Thank you, Solas,” I interrupted before Varric could scold us, as if it were perfectly normal to be found on the floor. Doing my best to subtly adjust my jacket, not realizing that Solas had undone the top three buttons to expose an indecent expanse of skin until Solas nodded in the direction. 

“Alright.” Varric continued with resignation, slowly walking the expanse of the room turning up the stairs. 

Making eye contact with a shaken Solas, I stammered an excuse at having to answer a few letters before fleeing out of the room.

\---

Very late that same night, I snuck into Solas’ chamber. Certain no one had seen me slip in, I was surprised to find the bedroom empty. I still felt a fresh flush of embarrassment at having been caught after becoming so carried away in the day. 

The room was not very large, holding a wardrobe, a bed, and a chair in the corner. Stacks of books were organized by genre in a line against one of the exposed brick walls. I tended to the dwindling fire, before pulling off my shirt and pants, climbing into the bed, waiting for Solas to return. 

I had fallen asleep waiting until I felt Solas gently stroking the curve of my back until I woke up. 

“Where were you?” I asked sleepily. 

“Varric took me to the Tavern,” he replied in a short voice. I was worried he was angry at our escapade. “We talked for a very long time before he shared a very long story of two friends of his that had, in his opinion, a problematic dynamic rife with age differences and intrigue.” 

I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I churlishly turned over in the bed. 

“I didn’t mean to get so carried away this afternoon.” I offered. 

Solas laughed, flopping down onto the bed next to me, pulling me onto his chest. I breathed in his familiar scent of cedar, finding it reassuring. 

“You have nothing to apologize for to me,” Solas responded after a few moments. “Although I might caution you not to seduce me in a public space--especially, as Varric kept hinting at--an Orleasian delegation wanders around Skyhold.” 

“Do you think Varric saw us?” I mused out loud.

“Undoubtedly.” 

"Are you upset?"

"No," Solas offered. "I was an active participant." 

“Do you think the others know?” 

“I’m not going to tell you what Cole said to me when I walked past him on the way back here..” 

I sat up to stare down at Solas.

“It can’t be worse than what comes out of Dorian’s mouth. Only if I understand how Cole’s mind works then he would have had to have picked up on your--.” 

“Yes,” Solas admitted gleefully, pulling me back towards him so that he could kiss me. “I was thinking about what would happen once I found you.” 

“Show me,” I demanded, as he aligned our hips gently before picking up right where we had left off in the rotunda. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this should really be a oneshot, and is in some sort of uncomfortable category of fluff/PWP, special s/o to the Solasmancers reddit who brainstormed make-out locations in Skyhold.


	29. Entering the Exalted Plains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This will be a quick jaunt through the Exalted Plains--multi-chapter story arc--posted in much quicker succession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm participating in a single day 10k sprint. 
> 
> Let's see if I can make it! I'll come back and edit any glaring errors tomorrow.

**Chapter 29**

The Exalted Plains were besieged by warfare. A bloody land, with a violent history, when our small group arrived, we were greeted by the all too familiar stench of rotting bodies--even in our distant camp at the edge of the battleground. Reports from agents stationed in the area had correctly relayed the damage the Civil War between the Empress and her cousin had caused. Observing the carnage in person was always overwhelming. 

In the four years since I had survived the explosion at the Conclave, I had grown accustomed to seeing the aftermath of battle--both physical and paranormal. The scale of the destruction of the Exalted Plains was unlike anything I had ever observed. The engineering involved, cutting into the hills and ground, to build war machines and trenches made the act of killing one to the Orlesian forces into efficient sport. 

For a few weeks, we lurked on the outskirts of demon-infested rubble trying to gauge the best entry point to clean out the rotting bodies and establish some order--any order--to the region. In the span of a few quick days, Cassandra, Solas, Blackwall, and Varric and I had exhaustedly fought not only one arcane horror, but three. The shrill noise of calling the dead to rise was snuffed out equally by staff and blade. 

Although Scout Harding had mentioned that a Dalish tribe was camped on the other side of the forest, I had not expected to so suddenly come across a band of their hunters spying on our efforts from behind one of the ancient moss-covered trees that had stood since the time of the Exalted March. 

In the late evening, after cleaning out the Northern Ramparts, our group was heading back to one of the camps towards the edge of the water when I heard the chirping bird sound that _shemlins_ would have no way of knowing to separate from the other sounds of the forest. A warning cry Dalish hunters used to indicate that outsiders were approaching Dalish camps. 

“We do not mean harm” I announced in Elvhen, dropping my staff to the ground and raised my hands to show I was carrying no additional arms. 

“So you are one of the People?” an older Hunter asked in Elvhen, stepping out of the brush with his bow strung and at the ready. It was not pointed directly at my body, but the threat was enough to indicate we were walking a flimsy line between conflict and peace. 

“I was born,” I replied in Common for the benefit of my companions. My phrasing purposeful to identify that I was no longer considered a member of a clan. 

“You’re of the East?” the hunter replied, glancing at my _vallaslin_ and the strange companions surrounding me. “Y-you’re not--the--” 

“I am the Inquisitor,” I replied evenly. “Yes, before that I was with Clan Lavellan in the Free Marshes.” 

“ _Andaran atish’an, letthalin._ I am Olafin,” the hunter offered, his voice warming as he put down his bow. A few other figures emerged out of the dark brush, dressed in brown and green suede armor crafted purposefully to allow the wearer to camouflage themselves in the forest. 

“ _Andaran atish’an, hahren,”_ I replied, my voice was thick with emotion. It had been so long since I had seen faces like mine, covered in the fine lines of the _vallaslin._ The feeling was bittersweet. 

“We are searching for safe passage through this area, the _shems’_ trenches break our aravels and injure our halla. We should be heading north to winter, but I don’t believe we’ll make it in time.” 

“The Inquisition can help--if you need supplies--or.” I stopped realizing that such a proposition would need to be given to the Keeper, along with the elders, of the clan. Although my offer was genuine, I had become an outsider to the People. For the first time finding myself facing the consequences of the strange life 

“You’ll need to talk to Keeper Hawen. We’re camped through the words, near the riverbank. You can tell him I send you in good faith.” 

We spoke for a bit longer, about the war and the troubles it had caused for the Dalish. An agreement was made that when we had extinguished the human threat to the west, that we would approach the Dalish and give aid. I noticed that while Cassandra and Varric had joined the conversation, that Solas remained silent, his whole body leaning wearily against his staff, the cowl of his armor pulled up over his head. His eyes were distant, looking away, when we bid the hunters goodnight and continued our walk. 

I knew better than to jostle him from wherever his thoughts had led him after meeting the Dalish. 

Back at camp, Cassandra and I were speaking with a group of senior agents about our plans to liberate Fort Revasan from the demon infestation. I did not give it much mind that Solas slipped out into the night, understanding that he was often solitary. When I woke in the middle of the night, in the tent we openly shared, and he was not there, I felt a foreboding chill. 

\---

I thought I had emotionally prepared for meeting the Dalish camp. I had spent so much time away from the People that I had forgotten how to be one. Although exhausted after our battle to clean up after the petty war of the Orleasians, I found it difficult to sleep at night, feeling the weight of living between the worlds of my past and present. 

The strangeness of living amongst the  _ shemlins  _ had long ceased feeling so. Nor did I think of members of the Inquisition as outsiders--the small group of companions I traveled with were more than friends, we were a family. After the short conversation with Olafin, however, I was reminded of how much of my behavior had changed. Speaking Common, I noticed the inflection in my words had changed, adopting the Fereldan accent each phrase short and clipped without the long melodic vowels that elves tended to use. 

The Inquisition had taken and transformed me. The power of the anchor had conquered my body; however, the ethos of the organization had irredeemably changed my spirit. I wanted to help not only the People--but all of Thedas. Considering how sheltered my early life had been, it was difficult to reconcile this shifting outlook. 

Getting ready in the morning to visit the clan, I was unsure what to wear. In the tent that morning Solas watched with a mixture of apprehension and interest as I laid out all of my options as I tried to choose between painted vests and intricate leather tooled armor. Vanity did not guide the decision, I wanted to appear Dalish enough to quell the fear we were sure to encounter but acknowledge that I was mindful to acknowledge I did not assume to receive any favors as a result of our shared heritage. 

It was a difficult balance. 

“It is a shame the summer is coming to an end,” Solas lamented dramatically in the bed. I knew it to be the start of a joke. 

“Why?” I asked nervously. The joking didn’t antagonize me, but I felt scattered like a flock of birds. 

“You look best in nothing.” He replied in Elvhen. His expression appeared serene as he rose and stretched, selecting his fresh clothes at random, and a towel, to go wash in the water before joining the scouts for breakfast. He kissed my cheek on the way out. 

Before he exited, I grabbed his arm. 

“Solas,” I began, before proceeding in Elvhen aware of the calls of Inquisition agents outside the thin fabric of the tent. “You don’t have to come today. I know that the Dalish aren’t--”

“Nym,” he responded in the husky baritone he reserved for only me. “I will go.”

“I understand if you don’t--”

“Consider it a scholarly exercise,” Solas countered. His face was placid, but I could see him stiffen. “How illuminating to meet a new clan and see--that is, to compare the experience to my adventures in the Fade.” 

“Alright,” I replied with a reluctant sigh. 

“Besides, none of the hunters we met called me a flat ear.” He replied ruefully as he began to loosen the straps of the tent flap. “That was promising,” 

I sighed, resigned to whatever turmoil the day might bring. It couldn’t be worse, after all, than burning pits of bodies under the sweltering heat of summer. 

\---

Keeper Hawen was not cold in his greeting. He was not warm either. Meeting the elderly leader, memories of Tor surfaced in my mind. The two even had a similar appearance, only unlike my mentor he wore the  _ vallaslin  _ of Dirthamen. I had to repress the urge to cry and wrap my arms around the strange as a result of the uncanny resemblance. 

“You are the Herald of Andraste.” Hawn had announced after an exchange of bland diplomatic pleasantries. “You may have been born Dalish but you are no longer. I do not trust the Maker that the Chantry-kind peddle.” 

“No, I am no longer Dalish,” I admitted. The words strung. I could see Hawen’s gaze following the pale lines of my  _ vallaslin.  _ The incisions had “settled” no longer raised, but flat against my skin. My skin had tanned throughout our travels and I knew from the last time I looked into a mirror in Skyhold each contour of the ornamentation was bold. 

“You bring us gifts and promise more like the  _ shemlin  _ always have before causing harm to the People,” the Keeper continued, gesturing to the crates of food and herbs Inquisition soldiers had delivered in anticipation of our visit. “My hunter Olafin gives his word that your intentions are kind. Perhaps you can prove your worth to this clan.” 

I was familiar with the ritual. Even Tor, who embraced outsiders with ready arms, was weary enough to ask those capable to demonstrate any benevolence--either through completing service to the clan--or a sacrifice of sorts. 

“What can I do to help this clan?” I responded in Elvhen. The switch surprised him, as although it was common amongst the Dalish to use the language of the People, bartering between clans often took place in Common to obscure the idiosyncratic dialect of each clan.

“We came here to bury our dead not knowing what turbulence the region was in.” 

“The dead?” I asked. 

“Var Bellanaris,  _ da’len.  _ It is only a half day's walk from here. The Veil spills over into this world and the dead rise. If you are what they say then you can quell its unrest. Afterward, we can parlay.” 

I nodded extending my arm, surprised for Hawen to return the gesture without any hesitation. The two of us shaking hands at first, and then gripping each other’s elbow, squeezing it in agreement. 

“We will return at nightfall,” I announced in Common. 

“Then we feast to celebrate your success,” Hawen replied with a faint smile. The expression reminding me again so much of Tor. 

I turned to explain the agreement to Cassandra and Varric when Hawen interrupted me. 

“You,  _ da’len.”  _ I turned thinking he had one last thing to say to me, realizing that he was instead speaking to Solas. “You are not Dalish but you speak the tongue of the People.” 

Solas looked bemused, placing a finger to his lips. I had not expected to hear him ever called the diminutive,  _ da’len,  _ considering that he was entering middle age. Judging by his face, nor did he. 

“I do,  _ hahren,”  _ he replied coolly in Elvhen. “It is a beautiful language after all.” 

“You speak it well. Better, in fact, than most.” 

“Thank you.” 

I expected Solas to rebuff the elder’s appreciation. 

“Perhaps you will tell me later this evening how you came to learn, or perhaps to share words lost to us.”  “I did not expect a Dalish Keeper to be so open to suggestions from a flat-ear.” 

“You underestimate us then,” Hawen replied before speaking to me again. “Go now, Inquisitor.” 


	30. Var Bellanaris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas mulling over his role in Elvhen un-mortality? 
> 
> Yes, I just made up the word un-mortality.

**Chapter 30**

The veil tear in Var Bellanaris was neither complicated nor difficult to close. Only wisps appeared, the iridescent light of their shadowy bodies evaporating with a single hit of my staff. It was satisfying to know that with the other rifts sealed throughout the region, that if the nearby clan was forced to winter in the area, that it would be safe. 

I had never seen such a ruin, as the Free Marshes was so distant from the world where the ancient elves had rebuilt after the Fall of Arlathan. Wild vines crept over every corner of the crumbling stone edifice. Cassandra and Varric wandered along the edges staring at the surviving relics, while Solas and I waked to the edge of one of the farthest walls, finding two large doors the height of six or so men, locked and unopenable. I could only wonder what lay within. 

“Do you want me to open that?” Varric said, coming to stand next to us. 

“Don’t disturb the graves,” I hissed. “I can tell you at least a dozen stories about what will happen, each more horrible than the next.” 

I hadn’t meant to react so harshly, but I felt a need to protect the site. I understood Varric to be respectful, his offer driven more by curiosity than any desire to loot or desecrate the graves. 

“Alright, boss,” Varric said a superstitious look crossing his face before sulking off to search the area with Cassandra. He had been standoffish since the afternoon he had walked in on Solas and me in the rotunda. I didn’t take it personally, thinking him more embarrassed than anything. 

“I’ve always respected your fear of the dead. It is a healthy one” Solas said running his hands over one of the inscriptions above the rubble. His eyes scanning the area for any stray glyph or ancient writing. “Is it the concept of dying that frightens you most?” 

“No,” I replied earnestly. I stood at the top of a plot of raised ground overlooking the hedges of trees marking each grave. The sky was clear except for the faint aftermath of the veil tear. Birds had returned to nest in the overhead branches, singing brightly. It would not be such a terrible fate, I thought, to be laid to rest here. 

“Do you?” I asked in return. At the time I didn’t think it was such a strange conversation. After all, death was a part of life.  _ Couldn’t we all expect to die one day?  _

“I haven’t considered it too much,” Solas replied evasively. I thought the edge to his voice hinted otherwise. “It might make you curious to know, there are no such ruins amongst the edges of where Arlathan was.” 

“It does. Although all things considered--and I have never thought of this before--but they wouldn’t need such a place as--”

“As the elves were immortal once.” he finished, his shoulders shaking as if carrying a great weight. 

I put out a hand to touch his arm and comfort him, even if I thought the concept of death to be such a strange thing for him to personally grieve. It startled me to feel Solas, in response, pull me into one of the hidden alcoves on the other side of the ruin through a hole in the wall overlooking the waves of the surrounding gray sea. Its waters muddy and cold. 

I was about to ask what was troubling him, when his mouth collided with mine, his touch rough and desperate as his strong hands moved up underneath my clothing, kneading into whatever stretch of skin he could find. I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist allowing him to push against me as the vines along the exterior wall poked against my shoulders. His breathing was ragged, the taste of his kisses somehow anguished. 

I wasn’t sure what to make of the encounter, feeling a part of myself unloosening. We hadn’t spoken of love yet, but it was there underneath the surface of each stifled moan. I might not fear my death--or death in general--but the way that Solas press against me, as if to make our bodies one, confirmed that he carried such a fear to me. 

“Solas? Inquisitor” I could hear Cassandra exasperatedly call out to us. Drawing back I looked directly into Solas’ stormy eyes, seeing him nod. Carefully, Solas set me back down on the ground. Drawing away reluctantly to go stand at the water’s edge as I smoothed my clothing.

“What a place,” I could hear Varric announce shortly behind her. 

“Well?” I replied. “Shall we go back to the Dalish encampment.” 

“Yeah, this place gives me the creeps,” Varric responded, his face softening when he saw my warning glare. “Sorry, Nym. I would prefer a sky burial after spending so much time evading the underground.” 

“Don't miss the opportunity to find material for your novels, child of stone,” Solas interrupted jovially, dragging the edge of his staff on the surface of the water. 

“Novels? Pah!” Cassandra exclaimed. “More like junk.” 

“Hey, Seeker!” Varric protested, swinging Bianca in the air. He waved his hands, pointing to a route that circumvented having to walk through Unadin grotto once again. "I know you have every single one of my novels stashed secretly in your pack." 

"You went through my pack!" Cassandra cried angrily. 

I laughed at them, surprised to feel Solas openly take my hand in his as we walked back towards the Dalish camp. If Cassandra and Varric saw such a thing, both were polite enough not to say anything to either of us. 


	31. The Golden Halla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Nym chase the Golden halla.

**Chapter 31**

“Where are you off to?” Solas curiously asked me as I walked towards the edge of the Dalish encampment. I was carrying a woven basket on my arm. 

Since freeing Var Bellanris of the rift a week prior, we had not left the Dalish encampment. Although Keeper Hawen had been pleased enough from our success to allow the Inquisition to offer aid, others in the clan were not as readily put to ease. I had done my best to convince them further of our goodwill. Our group of companions had searched for glyphs all over the region--and even gone on all day gathering trips to bolster the clan's stockpile of herbs and other necessities. 

I could tell by their banter that Varric and Cassandra were enjoying themselves. Each night, we gathered with the clan around the fire, exchanging stories and teaching each other. Solas never actively socialized with the clan, sitting apart from them in the evening, sometimes reluctantly speaking to Keeper Hawen about his adventures in the Fade. His answers were aloof, never revealing too much. If the old man minded, he never indicated as such. 

“Ithrien, the halla Keeper, claimed he saw a _hanal’ghilan_ a few weeks ago. He was worried it might have been killed by the Freemen for its hide. I thought I might go to see for myself.” 

Solas smiled. I think about the whimsy of it, more than anything. A _hanal’ghilan_ was said to appear when a Dalish clan was in great need. It was a superstition more than a legend, but I had never seen such a creature and was curious to see if I could capture it. 

“Wouldn’t a horse be needed to corral such a fickle beast,” he teased, bridging the distance between us in a few large steps. One of his hands gripping the hawthorn staff he always carried with him. 

“Don’t be an amateur,” I replied in a haughty tone, shaking my basket at him. “All one needs is wild strawberries--which I happened to see near the old baths over the river.”

  
“I stand corrected,” Solas laughed. Although it was early morning, the air was starting to sizzle with the heat. 

“Do you wish to join me?” I asked eagerly. I knew he would willingly join considering that it would mean avoiding the invasive questions that he would receive from Keeper Hawen and the clan. Although it was not openly acknowledged, I knew from the women in the tribe that all suspected he was my bondmate even if both of us denied it. 

“Please,” he said, a subtle groan at the edges of his words, his hand grasping for the basket I carried. “Did you want to bring your staff?” 

“I think we’ll be fine--I suspect that Dalish and Inquisition Scouts are watching us with great attention.” 

“Is that a warning?” he winked. 

“It could be,” I replied wistfully. 

Although I had enjoyed sleeping out in the open air with Solas, the lack of privacy in the camp was yet another reminder of how different it was to live in Skyhold than with my tribe. That and humans tended not to mind every coming and going of each member, I knew that later at dinner, I’d be interrogated by the other women what Solas and I had done when we left to confines of the camp, some going so far as to evaluate my profile to see if I had the beginning of a bump from pregnancy. 

I swatted his hands away when he persisted reaching for the basket.

“Come,” I said heatedly, walking quickly across the sand of the beach towards the ruins, plodding through the river, enjoying the cold water coming up over my hips as I trudged through the muddy bottoms and out on the other side. 

We walked for some time, Solas grabbing my hand once again once we were safely out of the sight from the camp. 

\---

 _“Fenedhis!”_ I cursed on our third circuit around the ruins for the elusive berries. “I’m sure I saw a few plants when we were here searching for the glyphs.” I ran my eyes again over the expanse of basalt stone, noting that the material was not endemic to the plains. Although I picked up a few sprigs of green elfroot, I had found no strawberries. 

“Are you sure you do not want to try using a mount?” Solas observed quietly. I knew my stubbornness was starting to wear away at him, for all his usual patience. 

“That’s not going to work,” I replied pointedly. “Everyone knows that halla can’t resist strawberries.” 

“Is that so, _nua’lin?”_ His voice amused. “I do not believe that is something I’ve ever personally heard or witnessed.”

“Not even in the Fade? You seem to hear about _everything_ in the Fade.” 

“Hush,” Solas admonished, drawing me into an embrace. “If you kiss me, I might reveal another spot where I saw the berries in question. Such information not from the Fade, you should be happy to hear, but from the waking world.” 

“I don’t think you respect how important this quest is,” I replied in mock outrage, tucking my hands behind my back, laughing when I felt Solas hands pull me for a quick kiss that turned into a playful nip mid-way through at my jaw. 

“Do you know what the Fade reveals here?” Solas asked his lips twisted into an impish grin. 

“Tell me,” I said, pretending to yawn in irreverence. 

“I wouldn’t want our concealed chaperones to hear such indecent things. After all, half of them can understand what I might say in the language of the ‘People.’ “

“None of those activities have anything to do with strawberries, Solas” I groaned, picking up the basket with an indigent huff.

“Kiss me, I am after all a poor apostate, trying to woo one of the greatest women that has ever walked Thedas.” 

I rolled my eyes, admiring the way the light hit his sapphire-blue eyes. I moved forward, giving him a lighthearted peck on the lips before allowing Solas to grip my waist tightly, the roughness of his cotton shirt rubbing against my bare arms as he returned the gesture with greater enthusiasm. 

In the moment before he was pushing towards the ground, I extracted my limbs. 

“The strawberries?” I demanded. 

Solas shook his head, clucking his tongue as if to scold me, “Come, I’ll show you.” 

\---

We walked towards the ruined houses between the two forts, occasionally we’d pass one of Celine or Gaspard’s forces, patrolling the area who would stop and salute us. It was amazing to see them looking so happy, after arriving at such hopeless circumstances. Both groups, however, seemed happy to once again freely fraternize and wander the bucolic countryside. 

Old stone vineyards had once dotted the landscape, painted in bright pastel colors. Although much of the grapevines had been burned away, some crops remained and in the late summer, the buzz of insects, and fields of wildflowers gave the landscape some renewed cheer. 

It was possible, now, that the Inquisition might reclaim the area, and I looked forward to reading reports of rebuilt houses for families who might be willing to tend to the farmland. 

Solas directed us to one of the most complete estate houses, really only a former kitchen built separately from the main house. The floor was left intact, hand-painted ceramic tiles laid down in a checkered pattern. I was tapping out an incoherent rhythm with my foot when I heard Solas exclaiming happily from what would have been the garden. 

“Aha!” he cheered, holding out a handful of small berries for me to inspect. The surface of the fruit was ruby red, spotted with green. It was small and tough. It could be enough, however, to entice a hungry halla. 

“I suppose these will do,” I sighed, picking one up one of the pitiful berries 

“You know the old superstition,” Solas replied, “the ground has soaked up too much blood to grow a bountiful harvest. It has to give largesse to the dead that fell on its surface.”

I scanned the landscape, noting the rolling hills covered in fertile fields. It was restful to be there, even if the recent bloodshed marred the tranquility. 

“It was once a beautiful place to be,” I mused, putting a hand over my eyes to keep the hot sun at bay. “It wouldn’t be a terrible life, winemaking--would it?” 

“And give up the power and might of the Inquisition?” Solas dubiously asked. 

“Empires fall,” I responded churlishly. “Wine-drinking seems universally persistent--or at least that is what being friends with Varric would make me believe." 

Solas laughed, waving at me over to help him pick the remaining berries, exactly enough for one basketful.

\---

“I know you are stubborn.” Solas chastised me while standing uneasily on a precarious rock formation. “Although, perhaps I underestimated how stubborn for you to think this will work.” 

He was tying a trap I had fashioned out of a fishing net, for the halla to approach, and stop to eat one of the berries. When it did, I would jump down from the top of the rock formation with a bridle and slip it over the halla’s neck. 

\---

We had spotted the _hanal’ghilan_ lapping at the edge of the river. It’s tawny hair catching the light like a piece of rich jewelry. The rest of the herd avoided it. Most likely out of concern for its difference--but I like to think out of reverence. Its solitary nature, perhaps, making it easier to capture. 

“Watch,” I jostled him, taking a hand Solas offered me to climb up the side of a steep rock face. The two of us stood completely still for what felt like ages. Solas was holding the trap, my hands held out with a leather bridle at the ready. The sun-scorched us, and just when Solas shot me a look to say that his patience was finished, I heard the soft clomp of hoofs over the stone beach. 

My eyes widened as if to command Solas to stop protesting. His gaze left my face, observing with wonder, his head slightly askew, as the golden halla placidly stomped over, stopping with a snort to chew at the berries. 

I angled the opening of the bridle, jumping down, managing to wrap my hands around the surprised creature's neck, holding on for a short distance as it dragged me forward along the ground, before I fell off. 

Running over to check on me, Solas peered down at me with clear delight. I could feel the wet sludge from the ground cold on my cheek. Sitting up, I ran a hand through my hair, finding it completely embedded with mud.” 

“I must concede, I am amazed to say that attempt was almost successful.” He chortled when he saw that I was ok. 

\---

“Oh come on!” Solas exclaimed on our second attempt. “You can’t tell me this creature is this daft to eat the berries again after what happened last time!”

I watched with despair as the content creature froze and spotted us before galloping off jumping over the upturned clumps of mud from where it had dragged me. 

“It would have worked if you hadn’t screamed!” I yelled in return, jumping down to the ground, shaking my head. 

\---

The third time I waited too long to jump down, falling to the hard ground face first. Standing up I put my hand to find blood gushing down from my face. It wasn’t but a few seconds that I felt the reassuring feel of Solas’ mana healing my broken nose. I appreciated that he stifled his obvious want to ask me to be more careful next time. Instead channeling his disapproval into few Elvhen curse words under his breath. 

\---

After a few more attempts, I was exhausted lying on the ground panting. The fishing net holding the last couple strawberries on my chest. I began to sit up when I saw a flash of yellow out of the corner of my eyes. I thought it might be the feather of a freeman’s helmet, when I made eye contact with two black eyes, like small pebbles, staring back at me curiously. 

Slowly grabbing one of the berries from the basket, I held it out on the hand, feeling the air from the halla’s snort on my palm. I watched with amazement as the _hanal’ghilan_ approached without complaint, its teeth grazing--but not pinching my skin as it took the berry into its mouth. When it finished it looked expectantly up at me, and I offered another piece of fruit before setting down the bag. 

I could see Solas watching with amusement, careful not to move, leaned up against one of the large rock columns. 

The _hanal’ghilan_ didn’t protest or lift its head away when I gently pulled the bridle over its head, fastening it before it could flee. When I finished, I grabbed a firm hold of the reins, using my entire weight to anchor it as it tried to run away after it devoured the treat. 

“Well done,” Solas clapped as the beast knelt in front of me once it realized its defeat. 

I felt a bit guilty dragging it back towards the Dalish camp, its hoofs sometimes dragging--rather than walking. I was relieved when it stopped as we drew nearby. Its objection to being captured came to an instant end when Ithrien offered it a type of cracker made out of oat flour to eat. 

“Amazing,” he said as the clan gathered around to stare at the _hanal’ghilan._ He had brought it into a cave where he stabled the herd. Amongst the pristine white coats of the other halla, the golden hair appeared more special in comparison. 

Keeper Hawen was especially pleased, saying to both of us. “This is what we needed to raise our spirits, thank you, _da’len.”_

\---

I had returned with the other women from bathing in the river. It was a ritual that most Dalish clans observed, to clean themselves in any nearby body of water as a group before the evening meal. I always looked forward to it, mostly for the gossip. That evening I had become the object of speculation, not for catching the golden halla, but for the method I had employed. 

I was sitting on the edge of the river on a wool blanket, combing out my hair until it was dry enough to braid. He lay down to look upwards at the sky before beginning to speak. 

“I have to apologize for not believing you could catch a halla with nothing more than strawberries.” 

I blushed, thinking over what one of the oldest women in the group had said to me in a whisper as we soaked in the water after scrubbing our skin clean. 

“I don’t know if it was the strawberries,” I muttered inconclusively. “Although at least the women won’t jostle me every morning to ask if I am with child anymore.” 

“What?” Solas burst, uncharacteristically alarmed. “Why would they--Oh.”

“Yes, oh.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll def. come back to this. Probably should actually be a one-shot.
> 
> In my headcanon, there are only a few days that Solas has the opportunity to lay down his guard for Nym. This fanfic is sort of the stolen interludes, the off-screen moments. I think the playful dialogue here, is a bit out of character


	32. All New Faded For Her

**Chapter 33**

Before we left the Exalted Plains, we spent one last night in the Fens camp. I can’t remember what had drawn us there clearly, but something about its surroundings put me at ill-ease. Although there was evidence all around the area of the many years the elves had lived there in the years following the fall of Arlathan, there was a strength to the stone cairns and painted archways we found surrounding the circular alcove that made them feel as if they were put into place in the present day rather than thousands of years ago. 

I didn’t pay my feelings much attention as I lay down to sleep the night before we departed. Everything seemed in order before I went to bed, and the feeling of Solas’ warm body next to mine was reassuring. The following morning, however, I was woken up by a startled gasp next to me. Solas had jolted up in our bedroll. 

“What’s wrong?” I asked, unsure what could have troubled him so much.

“I-I had a dream. One of my oldest friends has been captured by mages—not too far from here—I heard the cry for help as I slept.” 

I was concerned seeing the agony that lined his face. 

“I might need a favor,” he continued, looking me directly in the eye. 

“You just have to ask. We can rescue he--she, they?” 

“It.”

" _It_?” 

“Yes, my friend is a spirit of wisdom. Unlike the spirits who are so eager to fall out of the rifts, my friend was quite content in the Fade until rogue mages drew it out, subjecting it to slavery and torture.” 

  
“Do spirits not want to enter the world?” I asked, I wasn’t interrogating him, rather, I wanted to understand the whole extent of the favor I was about to commit to. 

“Not all—of course—a spirit of wisdom would gladly talk philosophy with you--but as far as our world goes, has no interest. Will you help me? It is only a short walk away, _please.”_

I couldn’t recall another time Solas had ever asked me for anything so I was happy to oblige. 

“Alright, let’s go get your friend.” 

\---

Cassandra and Varric were skeptical when we set out towards an open swath of field where Soals reported his friend was confined. In less than an hour, we found the mangled bodies along the shoreline. I almost step on a severed arm, with a shudder, while looking down at a young woman, her jaw torn from her body. Red had seeped everywhere into the earth. 

“Did your friend do this?” I asked Solas quietly. 

“I-I, don’t know,” he admitted. “If it did it was coerced.” 

In the distance, I could see the outline of an ogre, its deep rumbling laugh causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. 

“You said your friend was a spirit of wisdom?” Seeing shadow the gargantuan demon made me rethink the favor Solas had asked of me. 

“A spirit becomes a demon when it is twisted against its own purpose,” Solas responded, each of his words emotional and quick. 

“So a spirit becomes something else when it is forced to act against its own nature. Forcing a creature of wisdom to fight, corrupts it?”

“Exactly! Nym, I beseech you, please—help my friend!” 

“How?” I asked, his answer interrupted when a dumpy-looking man ran up to us, his long thin mustache oiled around his mouth in a peculiar contour

“Thank goodness! You’re mages,” The man cried seeing out staffs. Do you have any lyrium potions? We ran out and we—” 

"You summoned that demon!” Solas yelled, the tone of his voice, unlike anything I had heard from him before. “Except it was a spirit of wisdom at that time. You made it kill. You twisted it against its purpose." 

“I know this might be difficult for you to understand, as I am an expert from the Circle —”

I turned to look at Cassandra and Varric who both looked at me in horror realizing that the friend that Solas was asking us to save was in actuality a demon. Cassandra was shaking her head, clearly outraged that we would consider such a venture. 

“We are not here to help you.” Solas cried. 

“Solas,” I chided, “Enough, we are here to help everyone.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Cassandra stop shaking her head. Instead nodding back at me. Although she did not say as much, I knew that the gesture convinced her of whatever choice I made. 

“Breaking the circle will release the spirit,” Solas instructed, “If we hurry, and break the summoning circle, it might give us enough time to save it.” 

“Alright,” I said, picking up my staff, waving my hand to cast a barrier spell. “Quickly!” 

\---

The process of breaking the mages’ circle was delicate. I had given up hope at one point that such an endeavor was wise after dodging the summoned chains from what was now a prime demon. Its dark aura made me dizzy and I knew that if the fight dragged on any longer I would make one step in a direction that brought me injury. 

Varric landed the final bolt to one of the magical piles of salt turned Fade material. The circle, completely broken, had caused--just as Solas had said--the demon to turn into the disembodied outline of a spirit. Unlike the wisps and other demons we had seen fall out of the Fade, Solas’ friend appeared much like an elven woman, except the strange essence of her body was iridescent in the bright afternoon light. 

Solas' hands passed through her when he reached out to comfort her, before whispering in Elven, “I’m sorry, my dear one.” 

“It's alright,” the spirit whispered back, “You brought me back to myself for a moment—only, the pain—please guide me into death.” 

Solas began to shake—from rage and grief. It was an expression I only saw from him once. Which in the context of our later romance might be difficult. 

“Please—” the spirit of wisdom insisted. 

Resigned, Solas lifted his two hands, waving them softly in the air as the spirit burst out from its center in a cascade of light. “Goodbye,” he said sadly before rising to stare at me, his expression dark and unrelenting. I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to embrace him, or leave him alone entirely. 

“I heard what it said,” I began in a kind voice. “It was right. You did help it.” 

Helplessly, I watched as tremors wrecked Solas’ body. His shoulders continued to quiver, his hand gripped on his staff. 

“Now I must endure.” He replied sadly, two tears falling down his cheeks before anger made him snap into focus. 

“All that remains is them,” Solas growled as he fade stepped towards the small band of mages. I clenched my eyes as the storm of mana in the air grew hot and dense. He was about to slam down his staff when I raised my hand, waving each finger in a row before casting dispel knocking the spell from his hands as if he were holding a ball to throw. 

“Surely, you don’t mean to save _them,”_ He hissed. 

“You will stop!” I commanded him, a lightning bolt hitting a nearby pile of dirt as my rage swelled. 

“Nym,” Solas breathed half-way between a command and a request. It was as if he wasn’t sure what to say in response. He raised his staff ready to strike. I wasn’t scared for myself, knowing that his surgical precision would spare me, only I slammed my own staff into the ground in response, casting a barrier over the simpering mages who cried behind me. 

“As your commanding officer,” I screamed back at him, “I demand you stop and put down your staff.” 

“Stop?” he hissed in response. “There is no justice here—you are a tyrant.” 

“Better a tyrant than a fool,” I responded, my voice was full of a hot fury I had never before been capable of. 

“I-I,” Solas’ face flickered to remorse. Without hesitation, he set his staff down. 

I was about to reassure him when he finished his thought. 

“I-I need time—to think—I will see you back at Skyhold.” 

Without warning, Fade stepped off into the wilderness. Cassandra had to grip my arm to keep me from following and held onto it the entire time we walked back to camp. 

\---

Back at camp, I stood looking out along the dirt road as the sky began to gray. A storm was coming, and it would be a fierce one. With little optimism, I wondered to myself if Solas would return that evening. The mages we had rescued were chatting around the fire with Varric who was very diplomatically answering questions about the strange apostate that had threatened to kill them over a spirit hours early. 

I couldn’t take it. 

Walking forward, I sat on a bed of flat rock, debating if I should send out agents to look for Solas, or simply go myself. On the other hand, I was still too angry to have a reasonable conversation with him. I knew best to leave well enough alone, consoling myself that he’d return the next day. Even if I found such self-assurance doubtful. 

I heard soft footsteps coming up behind me, looking up I made out the dark hair of Cassandra, dressed in her quilted under armor, no sword at her hip. Such a sight was rare. 

I nodded as she came to sit beside me on the rock, laying her arms at her sides casually. We sat there in silence for a long time, both staring into the distance before she interrupted my stewing. 

“How long have you and Solas been in love?” 

The abruptness of the question struck me. I had not considered it so specifically confined to love before as I was not optimistic of the outcome. 

“If I am being honest, in retrospect, since that night in the Hinterlands when he treated my injuries.” 

“That night, I told Varric,” Cassandra chuckled, “We shouldn’t leave you two alone.” 

“You don’t seem surprised,” I replied morosely. “Sera said the elf always takes the elf in the end so bumping bits mean something.” 

“I think war makes for strange bedfellows.” Cassandra appraised carefully. “I think he was half-in love with you since the night we found you at the Conclave—only you have to remember how young you were. It wouldn’t have been right, I think for him to have pursued you unless you—.”

I groaned in response. 

“I know you hate that discussion. I think your actions today forced Solas to see you in a new way—and that surprised him. He’s attracted to you because of your strength, only—”

“I was responding to him as an equal partner,” I responded, looking back at the mages tittering around the bonfire in the distance, their glee demonstrating. “He wasn’t sure what to do.” 

“I was in love once with a similarly complex man,” Cassandra continued. “It was difficult—I think we would have been together if it wasn’t for—.

I patted my friend on the arm. 

“He was a mage, you see. I was a templar. He died in the Conclave. The last time I saw him, we had an argument quite like the one you had this afternoon. I hope that you and Solas can overcome it, selfishly, so that I can see such a thing is possible.” 

“Oh, Cass.” 

“I think he will come back to Skyhold when he wants to.” She responded. 

I nodded, the tears that had threatened to fall all afternoon surfaced in abundance. Cassandra and I stayed there until the storm struck in earnest, the rain pelting down on the ground. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little strange returning to this fic after so long! I worked really hard on another fic (called Fade Objects) and got carried away there. Personally, I feel like I've grown so much as a writer that I'm reading earlier chapters of this and going "what was I thinking!" I'm also incapable of leaving anything unfinished, however, so I think I'll try my best to write through this project to completion. So to anyone who really loved this fic, I'm sorry it took me so long to come back and I'll do my best to finish this somewhat soon.


End file.
